


mauvais sang (an escape in your arms)

by sehnsvcht



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Coming of Age, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-World War II, Pre-Korean War, there's a lot of sad things... but i tried to compensate with happy things too, this fic: an emotional journey, this is so messy and i am so sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-08-30 15:04:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 78,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8537677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sehnsvcht/pseuds/sehnsvcht
Summary: A stranger shouldn't be this fascinating, Baekhyun thinks.





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is my most ambitious project, ever. I was (and still am) afraid of not doing a good job with this, but it was paired with a strong desire to write something as such, so I did it.
> 
> This is a historical piece, and I tried to keep it as historically accurate as I could. It's most definitely flawed, though, sometimes intentionally (like Baekhyun playing the piano, for example), but please be aware that sometimes, it isn't. I researched things as much as possible for this, but I might have missed a couple things here and there, so please be mindful of that! I hope I don't offend or anger anyone with this piece. Tags also serve as warnings.
> 
> Disclaimer: none of this is real! It's all pure fiction; the story is mine, but I do not own anything else.
> 
> All the quotes are taken from Arthur Rimbaud's "Une Saison en Enfer" (ENG: A Season in Hell). There is more or less a reason why I picked that book, but you don't have to look into it much. I just love Rimbaud's work. 
> 
> Super duper important thanks to Juliane and Sarah, my two favourite cheerleaders. You are the best I could ever ask for; thank you so much, you two.
> 
> And for everyone else: I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Updates will be as regular as I can post them. Love you all, really.

***

_Je me crois en enfer, donc j’y suis._

***

Baekhyun had only known war.

He had been born in the fields, or so his grandmother had said. His birth had occurred at a time where the Japanese occupation was still ongoing, and for his family who had seen the rise and degenerative fall of the Empire, it had been way too many years of oppression already.

Baekhyun wouldn’t know, exactly. He hadn’t seen the Korea of his parents or grandparents to be able to tell the difference. All around him, there was poverty; an entire people being slowly ripped of its identity. It showed at school, in the streets, in the way the civilian police would look down upon him even as they smiled, or in the way his grandmother would only ever murmur the words of the traditional songs she sang, as if she was afraid someone would hear her.

The country was stuck at an intangible equilibrium, and it was the only Korea Baekhyun had ever known.

It didn’t mean his life was exempt of happiness, not at all—there were times in the fields with the water tickling his ankles where he could almost feel free, where only the wind and the sun would keep him company and there would be no one to make him feel restrained or like he isn’t worth anything. During those times, he would find himself singing those songs he heard his grandmother hum, but he would belt out the words instead of hiding them in hushed whispers like he was used to hear them. Sweet melodies would become invigorating anthems in the summer afternoons where he was charged with chores in the paddy fields.

There was nothing wrong with singing a song, Baekhyun believed. It soothed his aches and made up for the misery that was laced in the streets of Gyeongsong, far behind the farmhouse; it made him believed that someday, maybe he, too, would get to see a bright and prospering land that he could call his own without someone else claiming it, like his parents and grandparents before him once did.

Sometimes, he wondered why he cared so much about restoring back a past he was never part of. Then again, if he didn’t, he was afraid he wouldn’t have a purpose to live. That was terrifying. Having an identity was the only strength Baekhyun had, at a time where everything else was deceiving.

***

When Baekhyun was sixteen years old, other boys his age would run after girls, would throw each other knowing looks when they would mention Jung Soojung’s name or would watch Choi Jinri walk past, her skirt swaying along her hips and brushing against her slender legs. They were beautiful, Baekhyun agreed.

They were beautiful in a way paintings are beautiful, in the way the rain that sticks to the window panes in the fall is beautiful; they were also charming and kind and delicate, sweet and funny and intelligent, too. And so, maybe that was why Baekhyun couldn’t understand his friends when they would stare at them longingly, as he saw something in their eyes he knew he didn’t have in his own.

Somehow, deep down, he knew what it all meant, but he kept quiet about it. There was no need to raise attention on himself over such trivial matters. If, instead of staring at Soojung’s legs or Jinri’s curves, he was instead stealing a look at the almond shape of Park Chanyeol’s eyes or his sloppy grin for a little too long, no one had to know.

***

Soon enough, it was the entire world that was at war.

Baekhyun heard from Minseok that Japan got involved in some business in the West, and there was a fear that they would soon lack men amongst their ranks. What Minseok didn’t say, but Baekhyun understood nonetheless, was that they might end up being enlisted without having a choice, having to serve a country that isn’t their own in a war that isn’t theirs.

He already had a life of his own, working in the fields all year long and running errands for his grandmother more and more as she was slowly losing the energy to go herself. Baekhyun graduated high school, and soon enough found himself a job at Mr. Lee’s bookstore, while Jongdae picked up the bartender position at the tavern that his brother left behind, when he voluntarily enlisted, back in 1942. No one dared to talk about it.

In 1944, the Japanese government began the conscription of Koreans in the army. Baekhyun, Jongdae and Minseok all opted to work in the military industrial section, where their chances of survival were higher despite the terrible conditions they had to live under. From September 1944 to July 1945, Baekhyun had served in the industrial camps. He had no recollection of those ten months. With the amount of scars left on his body, he was rather thankful about that.

Baekbeom had joined the Imperial Army. Baekhyun didn’t hear from him after the battle of Tarawa.

August 1945 came rolling around like a tornado of national relief and chaos at once. Baekhyun came back home with his two best friends in tow, reuniting with their friends who made it out alive from the Japanese ranks. Chanyeol was one of them, and Baekhyun hadn’t thought twice before leaving a quick peck on his neck, the first time he saw him when the war ended. Chanyeol had brushed it off, because that was just who he was. Baekhyun hadn’t, and kept his distance from the man (and all he had meant) ever since.

Jongdeok hadn’t come back, neither did Baekbeom. Baekhyun and Jongdae never really dwelled on it, except that one time they cried together in the fields, some night in early September merely a few days before Chuseok, clutching at each other’s clothes and letting their tears soak each other’s shoulders. They hadn’t uttered a word; they hadn’t needed to. It was their only moment of grief, the only moment they let each other feel their loss, and it was a night Baekhyun knew they both would do anything to forget.

They never did.

Soojung was there to welcome them, that evening in August. She had tears in her eyes and a distorted but relieved smile on her red lips, and Baekhyun hugged her the tightest. When he asked her about Jinri, and she didn’t answer, he didn’t insist.

The only good thing the war brought was the departure of Japan from Korea; it didn’t make it any better, though.

Another good thing would be Yixing, but that’s complicated.


	2. part i: escapade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the real stuff. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Song for this chapter: "[Definition of Love](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SFzlkEewFuA)" by Orphée Noah and Lee Dong Woo.

***

_La vraie vie est absente. Nous ne sommes pas au monde._

***

Baekhyun is drumming his fingers on the counter at the back of the bookstore, watching as Soojung slides along the walls and between the aisles, her fingers lightly touching the books she sees but never picks up. Baekhyun sighs.

“You know,” he says out loud, knowing she can hear him despite the fact she cannot see him, “if you wanted to take a walk, there’s streets outside to do just that.”

He hears her laugh before he sees her, smiling at him and she appears from behind a shelf, her hair flowing in a cascade at her side. “What if I came to see you?”

Baekhyun smirks. “Then I can’t say anything. I am quite the charmer; I wouldn’t blame you if you were here just to stare at me.”

He sees her roll her eyes and his heart eases a little. “You’re insufferable.”

“You love it.”

“I really don’t.”

Baekhyun winks at her, and she rolls her eyes once more, but this time with a smile, and she approaches him with assured steps. She’s holding a book in her delicate hands, he notices. “Rimbaud? Again?”

She nods vigorously. “You know this is the only place I can get his works. I can’t find any foreign books anywhere else.”

“I guess Mr. Lee does have quite a nice collection,” Baekhyun muses, taking the book from her extended hands.

He can’t read the title, but he doesn’t have to. “ _Une Saison en Enfer_ ,” she reads as she looks over his shoulder. “‘A Season in Hell.’ I haven’t read this one yet.”

Baekhyun grimaces. “Sounds awful to me. If you wanted hell, you can just look outside.”

He didn’t mean his remark to be so harsh, but it isn’t a lie, either. Although they were lucky, being able to live a somewhat normal life in their country’s situation, having American soldiers roaming their streets wasn’t reassuring at all.

Baekhyun doesn’t understand most of it, but there wasn’t much to understand—as of now, nothing of it concerns him, or his friends, or his entourage. He has seen enough war days in his lifetime already.

Soojung’s sigh is loud in the shop, and Baekhyun looks up to her with a sad smile. “I’ll keep note of that,” she says with an exasperated tone, as Baekhyun takes her money.

“Please do enjoy it, Soojung,” he replies with a soft grin. She picks up the book and her change, mirroring his smile, and leaves as quickly as she came in.

Baekhyun is alone again. It’s nearing five in the afternoon, and he is expected to close the shop in an hour. Not like anyone would come visit a bookstore on a Saturday evening, but exceptions like Soojung sometimes occur.

He probably should drop by the tavern, on his way home. He hasn’t seen Jongdae nor Minseok in what feels like forever, with spring slowly making its way and summer not too far in the distance. Soon, all of them will be stuck in the fields, working day and night during harvest season. It’s the busiest time of the year, but also the happiest, as it reminds him of younger days that he feels were ripped away from him too soon.

He could turn on the radio, but keeps himself from doing so. The outside world is harsh and Baekhyun has enough to worry about. The time is April 1948, unrest roams across both the North and the South, and the only thing Baekhyun really wants is peace.

Peace of mind, peace between the North and the South, peace between the Americans and the Soviets, peace in the streets where small revolts and bigger uprisings seem to happen one time too many.

It’s just when he wonders about whether or not he should go in the backroom and try his hand at Mr. Lee’s piano that a customer makes his entrance.

Baekhyun looks up, and finds himself faced with a man of about his age, skin dirty and muddied, eyes glassy and eyelids heavy. His breath is ragged, and he’s draped with bags and various pieces of cloth that cover his body haphazardly. He’s still wearing actual clothes, Baekhyun notices, under his rags. They’re dirty and seem old, worn out like the numerous bags he’s carrying. His dark hair is a tangled mess of spikes on the top of his head, and it falls across his forehead in limp flocks. The picture he makes is quite saddening, Baekhyun thinks with a pang at the heart. It reminds him too much of the past few years that just ended.

Baekhyun walks past the counter to reach the customer, who lets himself be guided to the back of the store. He doesn’t utter a word, but Baekhyun catches a few whimpers of pain escaping his throat as he makes his way with difficult steps next to Baekhyun. His boots are making an incredible amount of noise in the small room of the store.

“Hey, easy there, easy,” Baekhyun murmurs, releasing his grip a little on the man’s arm and shoulders. “Let’s get you seated, yeah?”

The man nods and swallows, and he attempts a smile, it seems. Baekhyun grins back quickly in a way that he hopes is encouraging.

They make it to the backroom, where a couch awaits them. Baekhyun catches sight of the stranger’s face that contorts with pain as he makes to sit down, and says with a soft voice, “Careful, yeah? Don’t hurt yourself.”

It looks like the man wants to laugh at that, and Baekhyun figures that at least he’s got a little bit of humour left inside him, albeit a little cynical.

“Thank you,” are the first words that escape the stranger’s lips. Baekhyun recognizes the accent immediately despite the whispered words and raspy voice. “Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome,” he replies with his broken Mandarin, but at the appraising look the stranger gives him, it was a good call. “Do you need anything?” he asks this time in Korean.

“Let me rest,” is the only thing the man asks. “Just let me rest here, is that okay?”

Baekhyun nods, squeezing the customer’s knee faintly before getting up. He picks up a blanket he left on the piano bench, and covers the man’s body with it. “If you need anything, I’m in the next room.”

He doesn’t get a reply; the man already closed his eyes, his ragged breath evening out slowly.

It’s a little odd, Baekhyun thinks as he leaves the room and closes the door behind him, to have this Chinese man crawl in his shop at this time of the day, and let him sleep in the backroom’s couch even though he is set to close in an hour. His appearance was nothing Baekhyun could have expected, either; Chinese soldiers were usually found in the North, and were not welcome around Seoul. Although the man doesn’t seem to be part of the military, his nationality alone could get him in trouble.

Suddenly, it feels like too much responsibility, to let that stranger sleep in the backroom. Had someone followed him there, Baekhyun could get arrested for hosting him, Mr. Lee could lose his shop, his grandmother could lose her grandson. What is he thinking? All of this is way too sudden, too dangerous.

However, one look at the windows at the front tells Baekhyun the street is almost deserted, and as he closes his eyes in relief, the man’s soft features reappear in his mind. They’re far from menacing; although the lines on his face seemed hard and tough, Baekhyun could tell they were the results of only what a man at war could have seen. He recognizes himself in those hard edges, too.

Otherwise, the man had a pointy nose, sharp eyes and handsome traits, his gaze still young behind the tears and darkness that lingered in his eyes. Baekhyun wonders what brought him here, in these times especially.

With tired hands, Baekhyun rubs at his eyes. He still has an hour left before closing. He’ll figure out what to do with the customer in the back when that time comes.

He takes a stroll through the aisles, observing the different titles with wonder. Having only graduated high school meant he could read Korean and Japanese only; he couldn’t make out the Chinese, English and French titles he encountered. Soojung could; she taught herself French with the help of her exiled sister in Belgium, and English during the war, although she read both languages better than she could speak them. She knows Mandarin rather well, however, having family still living in Shanghai. Baekhyun envies her, sometimes; she had an escape through books that he didn’t have and often wished he did.

There is music, the songs his grandmother used to sing, the melodies he still teaches himself on the piano. Music is his only escape, his only reassurance in a world that has lost a lot of its luster to Baekhyun.

Amongst the very few things he remembers from the camps are the nights during which he couldn’t sleep, when he would start humming one of his grandmother’s songs and would wait for Jongdae to join him. Their soft voices would be the only noise heard in the dark for hours; Baekhyun never guessed if they had ever woken anyone up, or if everyone sleeping in their room were listening intently. He thinks the latter is the saddest, most plausible answer.

With a quick shake of his head, he rids himself of the thought, focusing back on the books and novels spread before him. He should reorder them, he thinks; he hasn’t done that in a while, and he knows Mr. Lee will be grateful for the rearrangement. It’s not like he’s short on time, either.

Baekhyun is in the middle of going through the third and last aisle when he hears a knock coming from the back. Standing up and walking to the end of the shelves, he finds the man with his shoulder against the doorframe, a tired but kind expression on his face. He looks a little more rested and lucid than the haggard man who came in about an hour before, but exhaustion still pulls him down, it seems.

Baekhyun musters his kindest smile, and asks, “Can I help you?”

The man softens. “Uh, yeah. I’m a little lost, to be honest, so…”

With a slow nod, Baekhyun hums in understanding, although he wonders what might have brought this Chinese man in the middle of nowhere, in the borders of Seoul, with seemingly no plans nor idea where he is. “Go sit back on the couch. I’ll make tea.”

“Thanks,” the man says. “Your couch is really comfortable.”

“It’s not the best, but it does its job when we need it,” Baekhyun laughs.

With a shy smile, the man retreats to the backroom, while Baekhyun slides behind the counter, taking out the portable stove and teapot he knows Mr. Lee keeps in the last drawer. It takes him about fifteen minutes to make a cup for himself and the customer, that he takes to the backroom as soon as they’re ready.

Baekhyun isn’t sure yet what he means to tell the man as he opens the door, or what kind of help he can provide him, but he goes anyway. It’s not like he’s under any threat, at the moment.

Baekhyun wishes he didn’t have to think about what’s threatening, and what isn’t, in such times.

He finds the man staring at the floor, his eyes unfocused, his elbows on his knees and his head hanging a little. It makes him look worn out and exhausted, which he probably is, but it also ages him quite a few more years, Baekhyun thinks.

“Tea incoming,” he says, startling the man who looks at him sharply.

His urgent gaze turns kind almost instantly when he notices Baekhyun, and offers an apologetic smile. “Thanks.”

“It’s no problem…”

“Yixing,” the man says. “Zhang Yixing.”

Baekhyun’s smile is sincere this time. “It’s no problem, Yixing-ssi. I’m Baekhyun, by the way.”

“Just Yixing is fine, you know. And it’s nice to meet you, Baekhyun.”

Baekhyun would raise an eyebrow at this sudden familiarity between them that he never asked for in the first place, but it isn’t uncomfortable at all. In fact, it feels more natural to refer to Yixing by his name than by -ssi, and definitely better than The Man or The Stranger. There is something in his eyes that tells Baekhyun he’s more in need of a friend than anything.

“So what brings you here, Yixing?” Baekhyun aims for a nonchalant tone, but he can’t help the curious twist his voice takes.

He watches as Yixing visibly tries to come up with the simplest, less burdening answer possible. It’s not something Baekhyun wasn’t expecting, and gives Yixing enough time to think through what to say. “For now,” he starts, then pauses. “For now, I think I’m just looking for a place to stay.”

It’s the safest thing for him to say, and Baekhyun knows it. But Baekhyun also has a feeling that he can trust the hopeful, tired eyes staring back at him, and so he doesn’t push it. “It’s a good thing you found me first, then. I know just the person for you.”

“Yeah?”

Baekhyun nods. “His name is Kim Minseok, he’s a good friend of mine—the best—and he just so happens to own a guesthouse, not too far from here.”

Yixing opens his mouth as to say thanks, then retracts visibly, licking his dry lips cautiously. “Um, do they… do they take foreigners?” he asks, and Baekhyun’s heart constricts again.

He’s more than tired of hearing about differences that shouldn’t matter, and their consequences. “You’ll be safe there, I promise.”

Yixing’s slow nod becomes more assured when Baekhyun gives him a warm smile. “Thank you again,” Yixing repeats. “Really.”

“It’s no problem.” It really isn’t.

Yixing then pauses to sip at his tea, and reminds Baekhyun of his own cup that is growing cold in his hands. He takes a long sip himself, licking his lips as he watches Yixing look around the room with curious eyes.

“Wanna take a look at the store?” he proposes, startling Yixing out of his thoughts.

“Oh, no, I mean, I’m a little curious, but… You’re sure it’s no problem?”

“Of course not. You’re as important as any other customer here. You just happen to have the right to a nap and a cup of tea.”

The smile Yixing offers him is more genuine this time, and Baekhyun notices a dimple in his right cheek. It’s adorable and forces a grin out of Baekhyun, who jumps from the piano bench and moves to the door.

Then, he notices Yixing still has a hard time walking on his left foot, it seems, and comes to his help. “Tripped on your way here?”

Yixing probably sees right through his joke, but plays along nonetheless. “Something like that. You should clean the rocks in front of the door. Might get dangerous.”

“I’ll remind Mr. Lee next time he checks up on his shop, then.”

“This shop isn’t yours?”

“Nope. I only work here as a part timer.” They’re walking through the third aisle first, English and French titles superposing each other as they pass them slowly. Yixing’s gaze is fast but intent on every title; Baekhyun isn’t sure if he is only staring or if he’s actually able to make out the words inscribed on the books.

“It must be nice,” Yixing murmurs. His voice takes a lower tone when he does so, Baekhyun notices. It’s hushed and somewhat more intimate, and he’s suddenly very aware of the arm he has around Yixing’s waist.

He quickly decides to say something, clear his thoughts and not dwell on the touch he’s pressing on Yixing’s hip. “It is, most of the time. Customers aren’t exactly rare, but I mean, this isn’t a market. People don’t read that many books nowadays. They haven’t in a while, in fact.”

“I understand that,” Yixing says. He sighs after that, and it’s Baekhyun’s cue to swerve the discussion onto another topic.

“We have a bunch of titles in Chinese,” he says. “Along the walls. We can look at them more closely, if you want.”

Yixing turns his head to look at Baekhyun, then smiles. “That’d be great, but another time, yeah? I think I overestimated myself a little. To be honest with you, I’m getting a little tired, and…”

Right. The guesthouse, closing the shop, it all comes back to Baekhyun at once, even though he didn’t really forget about any of it. He just got somewhat distracted. “Yes, of course, my apologies. I’ll quickly close everything and we’ll go visit Minseok-hyung right away.”

He makes Yixing wait outside as he quickly sets the portable stove back in the drawer, and rinses the teapot in the backroom and leaves it there to dry. He picks up Yixing’s bags, along with his own messenger bag, and makes it outside in under five minutes.

Yixing is still there, his back to the outer wall of the shop, his eyes sharp on the view before him. His cheekbones are more prominent in the dim lights of the street. Like this, he looks like he’s hiding in the shadows of the afternoon, his dark and dirty clothes not unlike the sidewalks and buildings that surround them both.

“The walk isn’t too long,” Baekhyun assures him as he locks the front door behind them. “It takes about ten minutes at most, and with your injury we might make it in fifteen, or about it.”

Baekhyun only receives a nod as an answer, but it’s okay. The tired lines on Yixing’s face seem to accentuate themselves as the evening falls upon them, despite the fact that he just rested in the shop. Surely an hour worth of sleep isn’t enough to recover from whatever he went through, or however long he’s been travelling, Baekhyun thinks. He’ll indulge him.

As he expected, it takes them around fifteen minutes to reach Minseok’s guesthouse. During the walk, Baekhyun keeps a secured arm around Yixing’s waist, while he supports some of his weight with the arm Yixing slung around his shoulders. They stay silent, but it isn’t too awkward, despite being tangled in each other’s space. Yixing is too tired to speak, Baekhyun figures.

They don’t come across anyone on their walk. It’s a relief; the last thing Baekhyun wants is for rumours to spread, or for any American soldier to eye this newcomer with much less kindness than Baekhyun believes he deserves.

Warm lights shining through the windows welcome them when they finally step on the front door of the guesthouse. It’s a small mansion, with a low roof and wide doors that let some of the light filter outside. Inside, the well-lit hall extends towards the end of the house, a series of doors lining both walls.

“Minseok-hyung!” Baekhyun calls. Next to him, Yixing lets his back fall on the nearest wall, and a sigh escapes him.

From the very end of the hall, Minseok emerges behind the last door, eyebrows tightly furrowed but relaxing when he sees Baekhyun. Still, the crease between them is still there, and Baekhyun wonders what it means.

“Baekhyun, hi,” Minseok says, walking towards them. He has his eyes fixed on Yixing, but with curiosity rather than mistrust. Baekhyun is thankful. “I wasn’t expecting you today.”

“I brought you a guest,” Baekhyun replies with a small smile. Minseok grins back, but he’s smiling at Yixing.

“Looking for a place to stay?” Minseok asks him, moving behind the front desk at the entrance. He takes out the logbook he keeps for his tenants, jots down a few things, then turns it around for Yixing to fill in. “How long?”

“I’m not sure yet,” is Yixing’s reply. His voice is lower than it was earlier, and weaker, too. One look at him tells Baekhyun he’s in desperate need of sleep, and maybe medical assistance. He’ll see later if Jongdae can come by anytime soon take a look at him. “I’ll pay for everything, no matter what, though. Don’t worry.”

“Sure thing.” Minseok’s gaze, however, sort of says otherwise, as if he doubts Yixing would be able to pay his stay with how he looks, but it isn’t with annoyance that he thinks so, Baekhyun thinks. The thing in his eyes is akin to an understanding spark, and Baekhyun suspects he would let Yixing stay over for free. It wouldn’t be unusual coming from the older man.

Minseok takes back the logbook, glancing at Yixing’s signature. “Zhang Yixing?”

Yixing nods, and Minseok makes a small bow. “Welcome,” he says, his Mandarin rolling neatly off his tongue.

Baekhyun watches as Yixing’s cheek dimples. “Thanks,” he replies in Chinese, before carrying on in Korean again. “Can I settle in right away?”

“Of course, your room door is #3. It’s all yours, here’s the key.”

Yixing takes the key from Minseok, bows at him in a way that looks painful to him, and makes his way to his assigned door. When Baekhyun tries to offer him help, he murmurs, “You’ve done enough already, Baekhyun,” and closes the door behind him with a soft smile.

“We don’t get many Chinese runaways around these parts,” is the first thing Minseok says to break the silence that had settled in after Yixing’s retreat. “It’s a little odd.”

“It is,” Baekhyun agrees. “He came in a little earlier in the store and fell asleep on my couch. I don’t even know if he’s a fugitive. His name is about the only thing I know about him.”

“Isn’t that a little reckless, then? To let him stay over.” Minseok’s eyes are more challenging than worried, though. “He could be a spy, or a mercenary.”

“It definitely is. I’m not too worried, though.” Not for now, anyway. “He’s hurt, by the way. We should probably go get Jongdae to check him.”

“No need,” Minseok says, before squeezing his shoulder. At Baekhyun’s raise of eyebrow, he continues. “He’s here. We were listening to the news, actually.”

Slowly, Baekhyun nods, taking in Minseok’s penetrating gaze. With his slanted eyes and carefully shaped lips, it’s incredible how he could look soft and inviting one second, and somewhat intimidating the next. “Is there anything I should know?”

“Quite a lot, actually. Come on.”

***

The room at the end of the hall is Minseok’s, with his covers piled up at the far back corner by the window. Most of the small space is taken up by the massive desk on the other wall, at which Jongdae is currently seated, his face grave and his hands tightly knit in front of him. With his elbows on his knees, he barely looks up when they make their way into the room, only hums in acknowledgement at Baekhyun’s arrival. It’s unlike him, and Baekhyun knows something must be going on.

He takes a seat next to him, while Minseok stays standing right behind his chair. From this close, he can see Jongdae’s white knuckles, trembling with the strength he’s forcing onto his fingers. His breath is slow and calculated, but the clench of his jaw and the emptiness of his gaze tell Baekhyun his calm is only a façade for the seemingly unrelenting storm inside of him.

“So what is it?” Baekhyun asks, keeping his voice soft but his demand firm.

He sees Jongdae’s jaw get tighter, before he almost spits out, “An uprising.”

When he stays silent, Baekhyun turns to look at Minseok, who sighs heavily.

“Jeju,” Minseok says. His eyes are downcast and his features are hard. “A massive rebellion broke on the island. People started attacking police officers and it apparently quickly turned into a carnage.” His choice of words is harsh, but Baekhyun doubts it’s excessive. “They still haven’t been able to find out just how many people lost their lives. Some reports say that the fighting is still ongoing.”

It probably is. Jongdae wouldn’t have called it an uprising if it weren’t. He knows better, he has an intuition for those things, as terrifyingly disturbing as it may sound.

“Who was it?” Baekhyun asks then.

“The Labour Party.” The words make their way out of Jongdae’s mouth with difficulty. “Who else?”

Baekhyun stays silent because he has no idea what else to say. These kind of news were getting more and more recurrent, and he isn’t too sure why he, Minseok and Jongdae kept a tab on those things. Maybe being faced with similar events face to face, even without having really fought, during the World War had made them more aware. Or maybe it was just fear; an atrociously sadistic way of reminding themselves that things in their motherland keep getting worse, with a dark shadow cast upon the entire land that speaks of another war just at bay.

America has troops all over the South, while the Soviets occupy the North. Ideas of communism, capitalism and other isms that Baekhyun couldn’t care less about roam the entire territory, clashing in bloody revolts similar to the one that seemingly just occurred now in Jeju. With all that has been going on, the upcoming elections, called for a semblance of normality in Korea, seem more of a joke than anything, now more than ever.

Baekhyun has suffered enough. They all did, and life still isn’t easy. All he wants is peace; however, the prospect of that happening without war appears ironically impossible.

Instead of voicing any of that out loud, he sighs in the heavy silence of the room. The sound resonates soundly in the small space despite it being quiet. “So what now?”

The question sounds ridiculous even to his ears. He almost cringes as it escapes his mouth.

Jongdae looks up to him, and something in his eyes softens, like the enraged trance he was held captive in moments ago only ends just as his eyes meets his friend’s. “Is there anything we can do?” he says, his tone clearly aiming for nonchalant but coming out sadder than he probably intends.

“There is,” Minseok intones, his voice clear in the small room. “Let us have a drink, yeah? I think we all need it, anyway. Who’s with me?”

At that, Jongdae’s sad smile gets fuller. The bright, mischievous glint that Baekhyun noticed was gone from his eyes is now back, despite its sad little twist, and it manages to warm his heart a little. “Now you’re talking, hyung.”

 

 

***

 

 

Baekhyun isn’t reminded of Yixing until the next day.

It’s not that he completely forgets about him, in the span of one night, not really—the sharp edges of his face and his tired, small smile left an imprint in Baekhyun’s mind, that he sees sometimes when he closes his eyes—but if Baekhyun’s honest, Yixing’s sudden apparition the other night still feels somewhat like a dream. Something unreal, lost in between news of fights breaking out in an island in the middle of the sea that he’s only ever heard of in books.

He does, however, remember him clearly the following morning, as he wakes up with a slight headache. It is a vestige from the night before; he hadn’t had too much to drink, but he did get a little tipsy. It’s a luxury he doesn’t let himself have a taste of very often, but it does happen, one night every month or every other.

His mind is clear, now, as the pale early sunlight filters through the thin curtains of his room. At this hour, the farmhouse is silent and quiet, the early morning drowning his rooms in hues of blue and gray as the sun rises somewhere far, far away. There are still shadows painting his walls, but they’re faint and barely contrast with the rest of the room. It’s really early, Baekhyun realizes. He isn’t much of an early riser, but it seems as though today marks an exception, and it’s not like he can go back to sleep, anymore. He’ll take what he can get.

He rises with slow stretches, before going to clean and rinse himself in the fresh water cauldron he keeps at the corner of his room. The water refreshes the hot skin of his face; it’s pretty warm for a morning in April, but Baekhyun knows it might get colder again sometime soon, and that the warmer days will soon be over.

He dresses quickly and slips his feet into his boots carelessly, making his way to the small kitchen at the end of the hall where he knows his grandmother is already awake.

“Halmeoni, good morning,” he greets her, dropping a kiss on the top of her head.

Baekhyun’s grandmother is short and has a soft look to her eyes. She’s seen and lived through so much more than what Baekhyun could ever imagine—he’s already had enough for his short lifetime—yet he never once saw the sparkle of kindness dim in her gaze. It’s something he admires in her, something he knows he’s far from possessing. He has a heart, still. At least that counts for something.

“Baekhyunnie, hi,” she replies. She catches his hand and squeezes it. “You’re up early.”

“I am. Not too sure why,” Baekhyun shrugs.

She pours some rice from last autumn’s harvest into a bowl, warm and comforting in all the ways he also knows her to be, too. “That’s good. Now you won’t skip breakfast over some silly excuse of yours, now, will you?”

He smiles up at her, the way he knows she loves best. “All right, halmeoni. Breakfast it is.”

The rice is a little bland on his tongue, but it’s not like tasty food is that common, lately. They can only ever truly enjoy a meal during Chuseok and Seollal, these past few years. His grandmother makes the best japchae, on Chuseok.

“So, tell me,” his grandmother says, taking a seat across from him on the small table. She’s old, and needs two cushions instead of one to sit comfortably on the floor. “What’s on your mind? There must be something, or my Baekhyunnie wouldn’t be awake so early in the morning.”

Baekhyun is about to say there isn’t anything—and there isn’t really, except the memory of Yixing once again trespasses his thoughts, and it’s odd, because he hadn’t thought the man’s appearance would have left him so restless. But the thought is there, Yixing’s face once again imprinted on the back of his mind, like a ghostly shadow hovering over the rest of his thoughts.

Baekhyun is intrigued, to say the least. A Chinese fugitive, or soldier, or simple peasant—he still doesn’t know—seeking asylum in their modest village, is something Baekhyun hasn’t really seen or heard of before. And it’s not just that—it’s also hard to get rid of the image of the man himself. Sharp and clean cut features clashing with the tenderness of his eyes and their tired, sad edges.

“I’m not… sure, exactly,” Baekhyun starts, “but there’s this man, halmeoni. He showed up yesterday, at the bookstore. He seemed… lost.”

The look in his grandmother’s eyes clouds a little, and he wants to bite his tongue at his choice of words. “There are many lost souls that come and go around here, Baekhyun. What about him?”

Baekhyun shrugs again, munching with very little interest at his breakfast. “I’m not sure, actually. He just asked for help, and a place to stay. So I took him to Minseok’s house.”

His grandmother smiles at him. “Of course you did. He’s in good hands, you shouldn’t worry.”

“I don’t worry, that’s not it. I just… I don’t know. He intrigues me.” His grandmother doesn’t need to say anything for him to push through and continue with his words. It’s always been like this with her—he’s always been able to tell her everything, just because the earnest look in her eyes manages to make him spill out his worries and hidden thoughts that he usually keeps for himself. “He’s Chinese, you know. It shows in his accent, and his name, too. But he doesn’t seem… I don’t know. He’s hurt, and he has obviously come a long way, but… it’s like, there’s something about him, halmeoni, something that makes me trust him. Or that makes me want to, anyway. Despite… despite everything,” he adds, waving a hand around, like it explains everything.

It does, a little. Baekhyun means that, despite everything that’s been going on, with rising violence and insecurity all across the country and overseas, he finds trust in Yixing’s eyes that isn’t usual but there nonetheless. He’s only met the man last night, and yet he already has all these thoughts and… “I know nothing about him,” Baekhyun carries on. “But… I’m curious, I guess.”

When he looks back again at his grandmother, he’s surprised to find eyes that are more thoughtful than he would have suspected poised on him. “Baekhyun,” she says, voice soft but firm enough to demand attention. Baekhyun doesn’t break his gaze. “There’s nothing wrong with being curious. But remain careful.” She softens her words with a smile, but Baekhyun’s stomach turns still.

 _Remain careful_. He knows that. He knows that, but… “Of course, halmeoni,” he says, smiling a grin he knows doesn’t exactly reach his eyes. He takes another bite of his bland rice, hoping to end the discussion there. He doesn’t know what makes him so uncomfortable, all of a sudden. It’s unusual. “Of course.”

***

Jongdae doesn’t open the tavern until the late afternoon. Usually, before that time, Baekhyun can find him either giving a hand at Minseok’s guesthouse when there are actual guests over, or at the Jung’s drugstore, where Baekhyun knows he does more courting than actual helping.

Today is Sunday, and Baekhyun doesn’t have hours at the bookstore, and heads straight for the guesthouse.

He finds Minseok at the front desk, his round glasses perched at the top of his head over messy hair and the first few buttons of his shirt unbuttoned.

“Rough night?” Baekhyun asks upon his entrance. He’s careful not to make too much noise, but his voice startles the older man nonetheless.

Minseok’s groan pulls out a chuckle from Baekhyun. “I’m not twenty anymore, Baekhyun,” he mumbles in a low voice. “I can’t take alcohol as well as you do.”

“You’ll be fine, hyung,” Baekhyun replies with a cheeky grin. “As always.”

“Stop smiling. It’s annoying.”

“It’s charming, hyung.”

“ _Annoying_.”

“Whatever. Where’s Jongdae?” he asks, his tone a tad bit more serious.

Minseok picks up his glasses, sliding them on his nose with stiff movements. “He came by about thirty minutes before you. He’s in the room with the new guy. I told him about the injury you mentioned.”

That’s one thing sorted, then, Baekhyun thinks. Having Yixing being treated by Jongdae reassures him a little. “Are they done?”

“No idea. You can go take a look, though. I’ll go make tea. A _lot_ of tea. Want some?” Minseok gets up stifling a yawn, stretching his arms above his shoulders. The fabric of his shirt tightens around his biceps, and Baekhyun looks away, even though he doesn’t have to.

“Sure,” he says, already moving towards the end of the hall. “Bring some for our guest, too.”

Minseok releases his arms, then smirks at Baekhyun. “ _Our_ guest?”

Baekhyun doesn’t reply, just rolls his eyes at his friend. “Don’t make him wait.”

The door to Yixing’s room is slightly open, and Baekhyun can hear the distinct tone of Jongdae’s voice as he nears it. It’s softer than usual; not as cheerful and loud as Baekhyun usually likes it, but it isn’t the dark, tense voice he had heard the night before. It’s soothing and kind; it’s the voice he uses at the drugstore too, when he gives tips to Baekhyun’s grandmother about concoctions and medicine she has to pick up.

The room is set up the same way Minseok’s is at the end of the hall, albeit a little smaller. A pile of covers sits in the corner by the window, and instead of a massive desk on the other wall, the guestrooms each have a small table and a set of two chairs to fill the empty space.

Yixing is sitting over spread covers in his undershirt and old black pants, his back leaning on the wall behind him, one leg under the covers and the other propped on a pillow, red and swollen around the ankle. His face looks younger now than it did yesterday, now that he is clean and that he has gotten sleep. There is still tiredness pulling at his traits, but it’s fainter now, Baekhyun notices. His skin has gained a little colour, and his eyes seem brighter, too. They’re focused on Jongdae, who is sitting next to the makeshift bed and is now examining Yixing’s left foot with a sharp focus. There are wrinkles wedged on his forehead from concentration, his hands delicate on Yixing’s leg.

Baekhyun knocks lightly at the door to signal his entrance. “‘Morning,” he says, voice calm but still a little loud in the small space.

Yixing looks at him right away as he hears the knock, and relaxes when he meets his eyes. His smile is pronounced and Baekhyun can’t help but smile back. “Baekhyun, hi.”

Jongdae only hums, his attention still on Yixing’s foot. His hands are pressing a little at the ankle, and Yixing hisses slightly.

“How bad is it?” Baekhyun asks, moving to the other side of the bed where he takes a seat.

Jongdae frowns at Yixing’s foot like it personally hurt him, then looks back up at Baekhyun, answering him. “Not too bad, actually. It’s just a sprained ankle, but there’s just something unusual about it, like… I don’t know.” He shakes his head a little, as though to clear his thoughts, before turning to speak to Yixing. “I’d recommend not going anywhere for at least an entire day, with that. I’ll ask Minseok to go fetch some ice, and you should apply it around every two hours. I’ll come back later with some bandages to help decrease the swelling, and avoid making your foot move too much. You should be fine in a few days at most, though, no worries.” The smile he offers Yixing is quick but honest.

Yixing nods at Jongdae’s words, his eyes going from his left foot to the man. “That’s a relief, actually. Thank you, Kim-ssi.”

Jongdae laughs at that, and there it is, the loud noise Baekhyun loves so much. It eases a knot in his heart he didn’t even know was there. “Please, call me Jongdae. I haven’t heard anyone use honorifics since the military.”

A little chuckle escapes Yixing’s mouth, and a dimple appears on his cheek. Baekhyun smiles too, just because he can. “You’re making us sound like impolite shits, Jongdae,” Baekhyun teases.

“You’re the one who literally just swore in front of a guest,” Jongdae replies with a snort.

“It’s part of my vocabulary.”

“It’s still impolite.”

“Fine, shut it, will you? I’m trying to make an impression, we have a guest,” Baekhyun hushes with an annoyed tone, but he can’t help the laughter in his voice.

Jongdae laughs too, and Baekhyun catches sight of Yixing’s stifling a small laugh as well. Good. The man deserves to smile a little, Baekhyun decides.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Jongdae says, standing up swiftly. “I promised Soojung I’d help this morning with new arrivals they’ve gotten from Seoul at the drugstore. As soon as I’m done, though, I’ll be back with your bandages,” he adds, pointing to Yixing. There’s ease in his movements and his words and Baekhyun is glad to see Jongdae act so warmly with their guest.

Not that it means anything. Not that Yixing is staying more than a few weeks, at most. If he is staying at all.

No. But it’s nice, nonetheless.

“I’ll be here,” Yixing says with an easy smile. Everything seems easy to him. “It’s not like I can get away, either.”

“Good luck with this one,” Jongdae teases with a nod towards Baekhyun. “He’s terrible company.”

“What will it cost me for you to stop painting me in such a bad light, Jongdae?” Baekhyun retorts.

“A lifetime supply of soju, probably,” Jongdae smiles, as he leaves the room with one last wave in Yixing’s direction. Silence takes over, but it’s calm and comfortable; there is no rush to break it.

“I like him,” Yixing says. His voice is soft and high, and Baekhyun sort of likes it a lot. Yixing’s accent embraces every word coming out of his mouth in a way that has Baekhyun captivated, too. “He’s really kind.”

“Yeah he is, like everyone around here, to be honest,” Baekhyun sighs next to him. From up close, Baekhyun can see that Yixing’s lips are chapped. “You’re lucky to have found us.”

“I am,” says Yixing, although his tone gets a darker twist, like he’s reminiscing something he would rather not think about. Baekhyun knows how that feels.

“You know, as soon as you’re all healed up, I can show you around,” Baekhyun presses. The look Yixing gives is relieved and interested. Bingo. “No one knows this town as well as I do.”

“Really?” Yixing asks. He doesn’t sound teasing—only genuinely interested, as if he’s really glad to hear about whatever Baekhyun has to tell him.

“Really really. I make an amazing guide, or so I’m told.”

“I’ll look forward to it, then,” Yixing says, and the dimple makes an appearance once more.

“The dimple,” remarks Baekhyun. He doesn’t mean to—absolutely not—but it’s too late now to go back. “It’s cute.”

Yixing doesn’t hesitate before laughing, though, good-naturedly, and Baekhyun is somewhat relieved. “I’ve been told, yeah. Thank you.”

Baekhyun smiles at him. “You must be hungry. Do you want me to get you something? I’m pretty sure Minseok-hyung should have some rice and maybe even some kimchi at hand in the kitchen. It isn’t much, but you do need to eat.”

In fact, Baekhyun doesn’t know that. Yixing might have had a feast, before stumbling in the bookstore the evening before. It’s not like he knows anything about Yixing, in fact. But something tells Baekhyun he hasn’t had any food in quite a while.

Yixing shifts on his blankets, wincing at the pain. “You don’t have to do all this, Baekhyun. You’ve done enough already.” They’re the same words he had told him, yesterday.

“I know. I want to, though.”

When he stops moving, Yixing shoots a serious look at Baekhyun. “Thank you, Baekhyun, really, but—”

“Anyone wants some tea?”

Baekhyun looks up at the door, and finds Minseok with a tray in his hands, his glasses sitting on his nose and his hair much less disheveled as it had been earlier. Baekhyun had somewhat forgotten about Minseok’s tea. He’s glad he’s here now, though—Yixing looks like he’s in desperate need of any food of any sort.

“Me, gladly,” Baekhyun says with a smile. Minseok sets the tray on Yixing’s lap, before grabbing the bag of ice on it to let it repose on Yixing’s right foot. “The left, hyung,” Baekhyun mentions.

Minseok raises an eyebrow at Baekhyun, but corrects his mistake without a word. “Pour one for yourself, Baekhyunnie,” Minseok says after a moment. “I was talking to Yixing-ssi.”

Baekhyun rolls his eyes. “What’s with you and Jongdae, today?”

He serves himself a cup, but not before pouring one for Yixing as well. Minseok only watches him; Baekhyun feels the weight of his gaze without having to meet his eyes. “It’s always been fun teasing you, Baekhyunnie.”

When he looks up, Baekhyun finds Yixing watching him with a quirked eyebrow, and he shoots him a look. “Don’t listen to him. _I_ do the teasing.” With a look at Minseok’s pleased expression, he scowls, “It just seems as though they’ve forgotten it.”

Minseok laughs, and Yixing follows him. Baekhyun only smiles, looking down at his tea cup. He feels eyes on him, but doesn’t look up; Minseok’s intent and amused gaze, matched with Yixing’s curious, earnest one. It builds a pressure inside of him that he doesn’t understand—or doesn’t want to, at least. It’s odd and uncomfortable. Baekhyun doesn’t know why.

He doesn’t want to know.

***

Yixing reveals himself to be amazing company.

As they sit in the small guest room, he, Baekhyun and Minseok go back and forth with questions and anecdotes that pour out easily from their mouths. Most of it is small talk, or a few curious questions, but nothing that delves into much detail or anything too personal. It’s friendly and comfortable, and Baekhyun revels in the bits of himself Yixing is offering, and the smiles he keeps on giving.

Baekhyun learns that Yixing was born in Changsha, and is only about a year older than him. He has lived in a village nearby for the longest time, though, with his grandparents, just like Baekhyun did, before moving to Shanghai as he got older. He loves music, although he can’t play instruments. He’s an only child, but has lived with many of his cousins during his childhood.

Yixing doesn’t explain how he found his way to Korea, or how he learned the language. He doesn’t tell Baekhyun and Minseok about his foot injury or how it came to be. In fact, Yixing keeps a lot to himself, Baekhyun thinks, but Baekhyun also knows it’s most likely for the better sake of everyone. So he doesn’t ask, nor does he question it just yet.

Instead, Baekhyun also learns that Yixing’s eyes grow bigger when something pleases him, but then tightly shut when he laughs hard, crinkles decorating them. His smiles range from small and sincere, to wide and joyful, to adorable and endearing, some of them adorning that splendid dimple digging into his right cheek. Baekhyun learns Yixing’s tone of voice by heart, a scratchy, wonderfully textured voice that delves into a low hum at times, or a high giggle at others. Baekhyun also notices how the man often reaches for his left ear, tugging slightly at the lobe, and it’s almost as though he doesn’t even realize doing so. He does it at the oddest of times, too—when he’s listening intently to one of Minseok’s stories about his weirdest guests, or when he gets lost in his thoughts as he retells funny incidents from the China of his younger days. It’s an adorable quirk about him that Baekhyun absolutely adores, warming his insides and tugging at his heart in a way that nothing else did before.

Not like that.

That too, Baekhyun doesn’t question it, not too much, not now. As he steals another look at Yixing’s sharp profiles and softening features, he tells himself that he can be indulgent towards himself. He can give himself that, at least. He can allow himself Yixing’s company, and relish in the warmth he exudes.

***

When Yixing shows up at the bookstore, two days later, it’s an odd feeling of déjà vu that shakes Baekhyun.

There are a few things about today that are the same as the very first time they met—Baekhyun, alone at the counter at the back of the shop, or Yixing entering when Baekhyun least expects him and turning his thoughts upside down. The way the contrast between Yixing’s sharp features and the kind look in his eyes catch Baekhyun breathless, almost.

But today is a different day, still. It’s only about two in the afternoon, and rain is sticking to the window panes in the front and onto Yixing’s hair and clothes. Yixing isn’t wearing the old, torn dark rags he had on when he first stumbled in the store, his leg aching and his eyes beaten. Instead, he’s wearing a clean shirt that seems to be Jongdae’s, and a pair of slacks over his black boots that…

“Are those my pants?” Baekhyun asks, walking past the counter. He leans his back against it, crossing his arms and tilting his head, looking straight at Yixing. Those _are_ his pants, damn it.

They do fit Yixing, actually, although they’re a little tight around his thighs. As soon as he notices, Baekhyun lifts his gaze up, trying his hardest to repress the blush he feels creeping up the back of his neck and flushing his cheeks.

Nothing in Yixing’s eyes show that he has noticed anything, though. Baekhyun breathes a little more freely.

Yixing looks down at his pants, then back up at Baekhyun. “I don’t know—maybe? Jongdae just gave me some clean clothes, and I thanked him, of course, but I didn’t think he would give me anything that was yours, and I’m so sorry I didn’t—”

“No, no, it’s fine, really,” Baekhyun laughs. Yixing is adorable, his eyes wide with apology, lips parted and an expression of shock that would almost be too much for the situation if he wasn’t so sincere. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll gladly lend you more, too, if you need them.” Before Yixing can reply, Baekhyun points at his hair, wet and plastered on his face. “Would like a towel, for that?”

Yixing opens his mouth, then closes it, before speaking again. “Actually, if that’s no bother—”

“It isn’t,” Baekhyun cuts, and chastises himself. It’s the second time in less than a minute that he interrupts Yixing. “I wouldn’t be offering if it bothered me, Yixing.”

Then, Yixing gives him one of his dimpled, grateful smiles, and Baekhyun feels his heart loop in his ribcage. It leaves him a little nauseous. “Thank you, Baekhyun.”

Baekhyun grins back easily. “I’ll go get that. You can take a stroll around the store, if you like.”

When he comes back with the small towel Mr. Lee keeps in the backroom in a small closet next to the bathroom, he finds Yixing in the middle of the Chinese titles section, his stature looking taller than it actually is, with his hands in his pockets and his head tilted up. With the muted sunlight coming through the front windows, and the incandescent light bulbs burning above him, Yixing is painted in a mix of grays and yellows in the small bookstore, and Baekhyun thinks he shouldn’t look this handsome, this beautiful. Baekhyun also thinks he should stop staring, and that his thoughts should also cease to take such turns. It’s dangerous.

“How’s your leg?” Baekhyun asks to make himself noticed. Yixing turns to him, slightly startled, but his gaze brightens up at the sight of Baekhyun. He takes the towel from Baekhyun’s hands with a quick grin.

“Better,” he comments. He looks down at his left foot, lifting it up as if to examine it. “It hurts a little when I twist it at the ankle too much, or if I walk for too long, but it’s much better, really. Jongdae is a genius.”

“I’m glad,” replies Baekhyun, stuffing his own hands into his pockets. “What brings you here, though?”

Yixing’s nose scrunches up, and he brings up his hand behind his neck, toweling his hair with a nervous edge. Is he shy, suddenly? “I was going a little crazy, alone in that room, to be honest. And since I was feeling better this morning, I thought of walking around town, getting some air, maybe. But then, I quickly realized this,” he points around the aisles and the books, and Baekhyun thinks, towards himself, too, “is the only place I know around here, so.”

Baekhyun’s grin gets fuller at that without even meaning to. “Missed me?” he teases, and finds Yixing’s posture ease up as well.

“Terribly,” is what Yixing replies, and it does take Baekhyun a little by surprise. He didn’t think of Yixing to be the type to tease back, but he’s glad to find out he was wrong. There is still an immense sincerity lacing his words, and it’s…

It’s nice. Baekhyun decides it’s nice. “I’m afraid I can’t show you around town today, though,” he says, looking out the window. “It’s pouring out, and even if it wasn’t, I still have to stay here until the evening. But you can stay, though,” he rushes to add. “It can get lonely, in here. I would appreciate the company.”

It’s bold, for Baekhyun, to make such a request. He isn’t the shy type—not at all, in fact; he loves noise and crowds and attention—but this still feels like a lot, for some reason, and his heart seems to agree as it picks up in pace.

Yixing tilts his head and the dimple appears again, and Baekhyun nearly swoons. “I’ll gladly keep you company, then, Baekhyun,” he says, and there’s something about the way he says Baekhyun’s name that is very… unique. It’s like he’s said it a thousand times before, even though Baekhyun has only met the man merely days ago.

They spend the afternoon together like this, Baekhyun going through the new arrivals Mr. Lee had dropped off this morning, while Yixing sits on the counter and peeks over his shoulder at his work. They mostly make small talk at first, but the conversation flows easily nonetheless, as they talk about nothing and everything.

Yixing mostly asks Baekhyun about life in the village—who does what, how’s the life around here, how’s the market like, how does rice harvest work exactly. Baekhyun then answers him, and often attaches a story to it—like that one time Jongdae toppled over Park Chanyeol’s cabbage display at the market, because he was too busy trying to seek out Soojung in the crowd, or the time when Baekhyun and Jongdae first had chores in his grandmother’s fields, at age eight, and ended up soaking themselves more with the water from the fields rather than doing actual work. Those little pieces of Baekhyun’s past—the good part of Baekhyun’s past—has Yixing in stitches, and Baekhyun takes delight in the sound of Yixing’s squeaky laughter that tingles down his spine and lodges itself into his heart.

At some point, they find themselves back in the aisles again, and Yixing points to the Chinese books he knows, and tells Baekhyun about their stories, and Baekhyun listens intently. The way Yixing speaks is in slow parcels, his Korean rather fluent but still a little dodgy at times, rendering his speech a little slow, but not annoyingly so. It doesn’t dim Yixing’s enthusiasm, nor does it affect Baekhyun, either. If anything, he remains patient as Yixing sometimes stumbles over his words, at the rare occasions it happens.

Few customers make their appearance. Soojung does come, at around four this time, and she only steals a curious look at Yixing, who smiles at her shyly, before she rushes back to the drugstore where her father awaits her. Baekhyun doesn’t worry, though—he knows Soojung will get curious, but he doesn’t fear her spreading anything. She will ask him in due time.

Not that there is anything to spread. But Baekhyun has a habit of worry, of being under a threat even though there isn’t really one looming above him or anyone at the moment. Not an explicit one, anyway.

Not for now.

Six in the evening comes around faster than Baekhyun expects. With Yixing’s help, he prepares to close the shop, and observes as Yixing seems to linger around the piano bench, in the backroom.

“You don’t play, if I remember correctly,” Baekhyun says. He’s leaning against the doorframe, keys in hand, and Yixing turns around to face him, his fingers still lingering on the ivory of the instrument. He’s standing, but has a knee on the bench, as if he was about to sit.

“Do you?” Yixing asks, and his fingers dance a little on the keys, without pressing.

Baekhyun shrugs. “A little. I can’t read music, or anything, but I can do a few things.”

Yixing nods slowly, reverting his gaze back to the piano next to him. Baekhyun watches his back, his silhouette a dark shape in the unlit room, as he moves with a slow curiosity around the instrument. It’s enthralling, to watching Yixing do anything. It’s like there’s always so much intent behind his every move, and it makes Baekhyun so curious and looking out for more, but there’s nothing he can do aside from staring.

Yixing turns again to Baekhyun as if to say something, then stops himself. The hand he had brushing on the keys pulls back, and he gets his knee off the bench. Baekhyun almost feels something snapping in the air—a moment he didn’t know was there is now broken.

But Yixing only smiles, walking towards Baekhyun, and says, “Shall we go, then?”

Baekhyun nods, letting Yixing slip past him. It hits him then that Yixing’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.

 

 

***

 

 

***

 _J'écrivais des silences, des nuits, je notais l'inexprimable._ _Je fixais des vertiges._

***

Over the weeks, Yixing’s visits at the bookstore become part of Baekhyun’s routine; a little like Yixing himself, and all his little quirks and habits, that slowly take up more and more of Baekhyun’s life and thoughts.

Yixing picks up on Baekhyun’s schedule rather quickly, and so Baekhyun finds himself working with Yixing trailing behind him almost every day he works at the shop. And it’s not just the shop—Baekhyun sees Yixing every day, whether it be on the streets or at Minseok’s guesthouse or at Jongdae’s tavern. The ease that was there since that very first evening in early April is still there, just as comfortable, and now Baekhyun and Yixing have a complicity to them that Baekhyun realizes he doesn’t possess with anyone else.

Sure, there’s Jongdae, and Minseok—his two best, closest friends, with whom he’s shared more than with anyone else. They know him inside and out just like he does them, and there’s very little that could change that. But with Yixing, it isn’t the same thing, not really. Baekhyun still has to learn so much about Yixing; in fact, there is so much the man keeps to himself, but for now, Baekhyun just lets it be. Instead, Baekhyun latches onto those little things about Yixing that makes him so deeply interesting and wonderfully unique—from the dimple in his right cheek to the curve of his back, to the intent and careful effort he puts into every little thing he does and the knowledge he is always so ready to share to anyone who is willing to listen. Those are things he usually doesn’t notice about anyone—or he hadn’t, anyway, not until now.

It’s new and scary and Baekhyun knows why it sometimes get even terrifying, but he’s good at quieting down his fears. He holds on to the sugary sweet feelings in his stomach instead, the ones that make his heart flutter and his lips smile on their own accord.

Calling Yixing a friend doesn’t feel right. But Baekhyun doesn’t dwell on that.

***

It’s when Baekhyun slowly starts to forget that Yixing is a stranger that he is reminded of it.

It is mostly the curious glances thrown their way as they walk the streets of the village that serve as a reminder. Those are the only instances during which Baekhyun realizes he isn’t as familiar with Yixing as he feels he is, even though it usually feels like they’ve known each other for the longest time.

It’s also when they pass American soldiers on patrol at the edges of the town, and Baekhyun doesn’t even need to tell Yixing to look down to notice he already is doing so. Then, his jaw tightens and his gaze gets hard, the bright spark in them lost into the darkness of his irises and the thoughts that seem to lie behind them. Baekhyun never stares for too long—he looks down himself, and walks faster. Instead of having Yixing follow him, he’s the one doing the following in those times usually, as Yixing suddenly picks up his pace, getting away from the soldiers at an incredible speed.

That’s also when he realizes he doesn’t really know about Yixing—or at least, about his presence here and how it came to be, and what it means. As much as he loves having him around, Baekhyun does wonder sometimes if he isn’t being a little too reckless. With China being plunged in a civil war, and with Korea being nearly just as restless and chaotic, there is a part of Baekhyun that stresses the thought, that insists on the fact that he ought to know, and that he should be careful.

But asking Yixing doesn’t feel right, either. So Baekhyun doesn’t.

***

May 1st knocks at Baekhyun’s door earlier than the previous years.

That morning, Baekhyun sleeps in, letting his limbs soak in the spring breeze coming from his window. It’s still rather warm, his undershirt sticking to his skin under his thin sheets. He should probably discard them, if only he had the will to move.

In his slumbered state, he hears voices coming from the kitchen. He doesn’t think too much of it—he recognizes his grandmother’s voice, and the melodious tone of Jongdae’s. Baekhyun could almost count the seconds it will take for Jongdae to barge in his room—

“Rise and shine, Baekhyunnie!” Jongdae shouts, throwing his bedroom door open. “And please, put some pants on, God.”

Baekhyun opens an eye, squinting at Jongdae. His friend plumps at the foot of the mess of blankets he calls his bed and sits cross-legged on his sheets. Baekhyun groans as Jongdae smiles at him with an air of faux innocence. “If you didn’t want to see me in my underwear, you should have just waited for me to wake up.”

“And where’s the fun in that?” Jongdae snorts. “It’s nearing nine anyway. You ought to be up by now.”

“Well, I’m awake now. Congratulations. Now leave me alone,” Baekhyun huffs.

“And let you fall asleep again? Absolutely not. Come on, up!”

Jongdae starts pulling at Baekhyun’s sheets and tickling his feet, pulling a rather unattractive shriek from Baekhyun. The latter kicks at Jongdae’s hands, who just laughs loudly in the small space. Baekhyun is going to kill him.

“Fine! Fine, God, I’m getting up, now, see?” Baekhyun complains, dragging his body out of bed and facing a teary-eyed Jongdae with a cat-like smile.

“There we go,” Jongdae says. “Now quick. Halmeoni wants us to start planting today.”

Baekhyun splashes fresh water into his face, before doing the same to his arms and neck. “She’s right, it’s about time. We should have planted everything at least by the end of the week.”

Last week, under his grandmother’s instructions, Baekhyun and Minseok had spent nearly three whole days flooding the fields, getting them ready for planting. The water doesn’t have to be deep, but the hard task was to make sure it didn’t get completely soaked in by the earth or it didn’t get past the fenced planting era. Yixing had stayed with Jongdae during that time, mostly helping out at the drugstore; his ankle injury had healed for the most part, but Jongdae insisted that helping with the flooding could do more hurt than good. Baekhyun still saw a bit of Yixing, in the evenings as they all met up at the tavern. Often times, though, Baekhyun was too tired to down more than a glass of soju before he felt sleep pull at his insides.

Looking at the direction of his bed, Baekhyun observes Jongdae who’s attempting to make an angel with his arms and legs in the mess of sheets scattered across the floor. “That sounds reasonable, actually,” Baekhyun hears Jongdae sigh. “Four people at it should do the job just fine.”

“Four?” Baekhyun repeats, towelling himself and putting on his shirt, leaving the top button open.

“Yixing harassed me without stopping about helping,” Jongdae says, sitting up . His dark hair is mussed and it pulls a corner smile from Baekhyun’s lips. “He’s really grown attached to you, it seems.”

Baekhyun hums, buttoning the pants he just slipped on. He chooses to ignore Jongdae’s last sentence. “Do you think his ankle can take it?”

Jongdae nods. “His back might suffer more than anything, but that’s the same for all of us. And even if I were to say anything about him resting any longer, the kid would throw a fit, probably.”

Baekhyun extends his hand for Jongdae to take, pulling him from the floor. “Yixing’s not a kid. He’s your hyung, actually.”

“You and I the same age, Baekhyun, but I don’t hear _you_ call him hyung,” Jongdae presses. His tone is amused but curious. “Nor ge, actually. Although that would be more fitting, probably.”

As they walk down the hall, Baekhyun stays silent. He doesn’t have an answer for that, aside from, _I don’t know_. And that’s not a valid answer.

Thankfully, as soon as they make it to the kitchen, his grandmother asks Jongdae about today’s plans, and the thought is dropped. Baekhyun tries his best to forget.

***

“Planting?”

Baekhyun nods. Yixing is staring back at him with wide but curious eyes. They’re both sitting in Yixing’s room, on the floor, at the guesthouse, as Baekhyun watches Yixing put on his black shoes. When he takes a quick look around the room, he finds Yixing’s bags still unpacked and untouched, tucked under the small table on the other side of the room. He has been wearing Jongdae’s shirts and Baekhyun’s pants ever since he came in town, nearly a month ago, not once wearing his own clothes—if he had any.

“Have you ever done that before?” Baekhyun asks, shoving Yixing’s shoulder playfully with his own. They’re sitting really close, their knees touching. Yixing’s heat next to him is a warm sensation on Baekhyun’s skin. “Planting rice.”

“Nope,” Yixing replies, shaking his head. He tightens the laces of his boots as he speaks. “I’ve seen people do it, though. In China. Back where I come from.”

As he turns to stare at Yixing, Baekhyun notices the tone of his voice has gotten softer. Reminiscing. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I was too young at the time, though, to take part in anything. My grandfather would hush me back into the house whenever I tried to sneak out and run to the fields,” Yixing says with a distant smile. His gaze has shifted from Baekhyun’s eyes to a spot behind him, eyes unfocused, but Baekhyun doesn’t stop staring back. “Everyone used to go, though. There was this huge land, a little further behind our village at the borders of Changsha. That’s where the paddy fields were. And all the families would just go and attend at the fields, throughout the summer. Take part in the flooding, the planting, and later on, the harvest. _Everyone_ would meet there, you know?” he adds, looking back at Baekhyun with eyes that ask of a desperate understanding.

There’s something in those eyes, something awful and indecipherable that sends dread shooting down Baekhyun’s spine. Yixing never talks about his past. Never. Maybe, Baekhyun thinks, the despair and nervous anxiety hiding behind his eyes is the reason why, whatever it may mean.

It’s a little odd, still; the memory Yixing has just recalled seems nothing but peaceful. But Baekhyun is no one to know, after all.

His hand finds Yixing’s without him even thinking about it, as he reaches for his fingers delicately between them.

Yixing jumps slightly at the touch, eyes shooting down to look at their touching hands, staring as if they weren’t there. It’s like this for a few seconds, Yixing exhaling loudly in the space between them.

When he looks back up, there’s wonder in his dark gaze. Baekhyun stays still, breathing as evenly as he can. Yixing’s skin under his is burning up, or maybe that’s just him; he feels hot all over, almost struggling to breathe, but in a way that’s strangely addicting.

But then something snaps, and Yixing reverts back to his usual kind and curious self. It feels like a mask, though; the usual sincerity Baekhyun loves about his eyes is somewhat dimmer right now. “That was a long time ago, though,” Yixing says. His tone is a little fake. “So this will be my first time in the fields, yes.”

He pulls his hand away from under Baekhyun’s, whose fingers instinctively curl onto themselves. Baekhyun tries to fight off the disappointment filling his insides. He doesn’t know why it’s there.

He swallows it down, and offers Yixing a smile as he stands up. “Come on, then,” he chirps. His enthusiasm sounds off even to his own ears, but Yixing doesn’t say anything, just like Baekhyun hasn’t said anything about Yixing’s sad twist to his smile. “Jongdae and Minseok are waiting for us.”

“We don’t want to keep them waiting, do we?” Yixing adds. “Let’s go.”

“Let’s go,” Baekhyun repeats. He’s the one who closes the door to Yixing’s room behind them.

He can’t help the lingering look he gives last to Yixing’s belongings, under the table, before he clicks the door shut.

***

“There’s a lot of hard work that goes into growing rice.”

“Yixing-ah, we’ve only just started,” Minseok’s voice intones. The four of them are outside, under May’s unrelenting spring sun, the water licking at their ankles in the middle of the fields. “Stop complaining.”

“I’m not complaining!” Yixing yells back. He sounds awfully offended Minseok would ever think so. “I’m just amazed. I love rice.”

Jongdae snorts next to him, and Baekhyun joins him. “Why are you acting like you’re afraid to offend the rice?” Jongdae wheezes out in between two fits of laughter. “You haven’t done anything to piss off the poor plant, and it’s not like it can _get_ offended, either.”

From a few meters away, Yixing stands up fully, looking at both Jongdae and Baekhyun with pouting lips. With mud in his hands and somehow, on his forehead, Baekhyun finds him atrociously adorable. “Hey! Get back to work, you too,” he scowls loudly, pointing at them both with an accusatory finger. “Stop laughing at me.”

“We’re not laughing at you,” Baekhyun says, but he bends back down, forcing down his laughter. A smile still dances on his lips, though, and he doesn’t need to look up to see it’s the same for his three other friends.

Minseok is right, though; they’re only just getting started on the planting. Each of them are covering different parts of the fields, which requires them to yell to be heard by the others. They don’t say much, though; in fact, Yixing does most of the talking, asking if he’s doing the right thing from time to time and making sure he doesn’t ruin what could be a quarter of next fall’s harvest.

Now, though, they’ve all fallen silent, and even though they’ve only been at it for about two hours, Baekhyun feels his back muscles pull tightly when he moves. His hands are still working efficiently though, fingers digging deep in the mud and files of rice plants preceding him. They’ll need maybe another two days to complete everything, he judges from his own pace.

“Baekhyunnie!” he hears Minseok call.

He stands up fully at his name, rolling his shoulders back to relieve some of the strain of his back. “Hyung?”

“Sing us a song, will you?”

The request takes him by surprise. Baekhyun gapes, frozen in place. Usually, he wouldn’t hesitate, not the least—he would laugh, maybe, and then he would start singing, one of the songs he’s sung so many times to his two other friends that he’s picked up from his grandmother over the years.

But now Yixing is watching, even waiting for him to sing, apparently, and something in Baekhyun’s guts shifts. His hesitation is new and foreign even to him, and he doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like the meaning of it, either.

Jongdae seems to notice as well, and chuckles. “Baekhyunnie!” he shouts. “Come on, it’s not like you’re shy or anything, yeah? Yixing-hyung! Did you know Baekhyun-ssi here does the best rendition of _Arirang_ around these parts?”

Jongdae looks ridiculous, looking up to Yixing from under his _satgat_ with a grin that’s too wide for Baekhyun’s taste. The hat is too big for him, and Jongdae brings up muddied hands to pull it up with wobbly wrists. Jongdae is ridiculous, Baekhyun thinks.

But Jongdae’s words are still out for the world to hear, for Yixing to hear; and now Yixing is looking straight at him with inquisitive eyes and a half smile that should be illegal. “ _Arirang_?”

“It’s a folk song, an incredibly famous one. There’s many versions of it. It’s my grandmother’s favourite song,” Baekhyun explains with a low voice. He isn’t sure if Yixing hears him, but he must, because he’s nodding slowly. “She used to sing it all the time.”

“Then sing it,” Yixing asks. “I’ve never heard it before.” His smile deepens, and the dimple appears. Baekhyun knows he’s done for. “Sing it.”

An unspoken _for me_ seems to follow his words that Baekhyun can taste in the spring air between them. He sighs; then with one last look towards an amused Minseok and an expecting Jongdae, he sings.

His voice is a little husky at first, and Baekhyun doesn’t know why, but he pushes at it, and the words flow out of his throat easily. He raises his voice when it seems fitting, in a way that’s natural by now. Somewhere along the way, his eyes close, but the thrumming feeling of freedom he usually feels when he sings is there, and it’s sizzling under his skin.

_Arirang, Arirang, Arariyo,_

_Crossing over Arirang Pass._

He hums some vowels, holds onto them for a longer period of time. He sings the song the way he’s always done it, but also in a way he finds is renewed, just like every time he decides to perform it. There is a weight behind the lyrics that he carries through with his singing, lifting up some of his own worries in the meantime.

_The one who abandoned me,_

_Shall not walk even ten li before their feet hurt._

His eyes are still closed and his voice is still sounding clear in the now silent fields as he hears Jongdae join him for the second verse, his voice pitched higher than Baekhyun’s but fitting perfectly.

_Arirang, Arirang, Arariyo,_

_Crossing over Arirang Pass._

_Just as there are many stars in the clear sky,_

_There are also many dreams in our heart._

They stop there without going into the third verse, in a synchronized way that surprises even Baekhyun. He opens his eyes, finds Jongdae smiling at him with a satisfied grin, before meeting Yixing’s eyes.

Reverence and awe fills them, and Baekhyun loses his breath. They’re staring intently at him, brighter than the sun above them. Baekhyun gets lost in their luster, gets lost in what all the feelings hidden behind them might mean.

Then, Yixing’s parted lips break into a dazzling smile, teeth and dimples showing, and Baekhyun finds himself grinning just as wide. Yixing starts applauding, and soon Minseok follows, and so does Jongdae.

“Yah!” Baekhyun shouts, flustered but so incredibly happy. “Stop it, all of you!”

“That was beautiful, Baekhyun!” Yixing says. “Beautiful!”

He shouts the words into the air, and Baekhyun feels invigorated with them. They’re more than words of thanks; it’s as though Baekhyun’s singing managed to breathe happiness into Yixing himself, and that’s… Baekhyun has no words for it.

He starts laughing, the giddiness in his bones getting the best of him, and Yixing follows shortly.

The sun is still beating against their backs, but Baekhyun knows the warmth he feels doesn’t come from the star in the sky. It’s noisy all around him, from his friends’ laughter to the sweet rustle of the plants and the water at their feet.

It’s the happiest Baekhyun has felt in what feels like a lifetime.

***

They manage to complete about a third of the entirety of the farmhouse’s fields by the end of the first day.

At lunch, Yixing sat close to Baekhyun in his grandmother’s kitchen, knees touching again under the table and Baekhyun having Yixing’s undivided attention. He asked what felt like a thousand questions about Baekhyun’s singing, to which Baekhyun had very little answers. He didn’t know how he sang—he just knew how to, simple as that. He just did, that was his thing. So Yixing started asking him about songs instead, and Baekhyun was glad to share stories about his favourite ones.

He didn’t sing again, though.

His grandmother had watched them closely, but Baekhyun watched and she obviously warmed up to Yixing’s presence, slowly easing up to the fact that yes, he was a stranger, but he could also be trusted. At least for now.

The afternoon went by in a blur, and the four of them found themselves back in Baekhyun’s kitchen at around seven in the evening. Jongdae and Minseok had cleaned up quickly, Minseok going to the guesthouse to check on a few things before they all met at Jongdae’s tavern where they all agreed to spend dinner, Jongdae shooting out the invitation before leaving with Minseok.

It’s only Yixing and Baekhyun in the kitchen now, Baekhyun scrubbing furiously at his muddied arms, washing away the remaining dirt off his skin.

“I didn’t know you could sing like that,” Yixing says. His voice is calm in the room, relaxed. Baekhyun likes the sound of it, so much.

“You said that already, earlier,” Baekhyun points out to him.

“I know,” Yixing huffs, and Baekhyun doesn’t need to look at him to know he’s rolled his eyes. He doesn’t know when he’s gotten able to notice things about Yixing like that. “But I’m still… Your voice is stunning, Baekhyun.”

Heat traverses Baekhyun whole like a crashing wave. “Thank you,” he replies softly.

The sound of the water sloshing in the massive cauldron on the counter and against his skin is the only sound audible in the room, along with Baekhyun’s and Yixing’s breaths. Baekhyun hears Yixing shuffle behind him, as he pours water one last time over his arms before taking them out of the now dirty water.

It’s when he reaches for the towel next to the cauldron that he feels gentle hands on his shoulders. Baekhyun stops in his tracks, his heartbeat picking up almost instantly. Yixing’s hands press gently at his shoulders, slowly, before relaxing, and remaining there. The touch sends warmth shooting through Baekhyun’s body at an incredible speed, unlike anything he’s ever felt before. He still feels thumbs rubbing slow circles on his shoulder blades, the heat of the movement going straight through his thin shirt.

Baekhyun wills his breath to stabilize through long exhales he hopes aren’t too obvious. He focuses on the towel in his hands, drying them thoroughly, and he might be paying too much attention on the task at hand but Yixing doesn’t say a word. Instead, he brings his hands down to cup Baekhyun’s biceps, squeezing lightly before Baekhyun feels the man press his chin on his left shoulder.

In reality, the entire motion took maybe a matter of seconds, but in Baekhyun’s hazy mind, it feels like an eternity. Yixing’s face is so close to his own; their cheeks are brushing, and Baekhyun knows the heat he feels is from nothing else than the excessive blushing tinting his skin.

“You should sing them to me, someday,” Yixing says, his voice a whisper and barely audible, but Baekhyun hears it clearly, loudly in every corner of his mind. “All those songs you told me about.”

Baekhyun is ready to promise everything there and then to Yixing, be it a couple of songs or an entire lifetime by his side. These thoughts are terrifying, but the fire licking at his stomach at the moment burns far more than the danger his thoughts hide behind.

“Someday,” is what he settles on replying. His voice is shaking and he hopes Yixing doesn’t notice.

He feels the man breathe deeply behind him, and a soft chuckle shaking him. Baekhyun is too dazzled to smile back. “I’ll look forward to it,” Yixing hums in his ear, and just like that, his touch is gone from Baekhyun’s arm, his presence vanishing.

Baekhyun steals a look over his shoulder to find Yixing with his back already to him, making his way out of the kitchen. “Come on,” Yixing exclaims, his voice now loud and shaking Baekhyun awake. “They’re waiting for us at the tavern.”

Baekhyun mumbles a weak reply that sounds like gibberish even to him. His hands are shaking, and he fists them with an unbearable strength to will them to stop. When he relaxes, he takes one deep breath, then a second, closing his eyes.

After a beat, he opens them again, throws the towel on the counter and follows Yixing out of the house.

The myriad of emotions and thoughts going through Baekhyun’s head are a jumble he cannot comprehend. They aren’t exactly new—in fact, Baekhyun has gotten accustomed to them over the past month, under Yixing’s unrelenting kind gaze and comfortable company.

Right now, though, these thoughts are suffocating him. They’re as confusing as they are scary, but there’s something else that stands out—something overwhelmingly good that feels like it shouldn’t be, something fiery and soothing at the same time; something Baekhyun wants to hold onto for dear like just like he desperately wants to get rid of it.

Amidst it all, the image of Yixing smiling at him and the memory of his touch seem to mock him and his newfound misery, and the meaning of it is something Baekhyun allows himself to overlook for now.

He doesn’t know if he can keep it up any longer, though.

 

 

***

 

 

 

***

_L’amour est à réinventer, on le sait._

***

Constant touching, Baekhyun quickly learns, is Yixing’s most devastating habit.

He takes notice of it almost overnight; as Baekhyun remembers the burning touch of Yixing’s hands on his arms and shoulders, he comes to realize that it’s only part of how Yixing interacts with everyone. It’s simply part and parcel with his kindness, it seems.

Whether it be a fleeting touch on Jongdae’s back or an arm thrown leisurely across Minseok’s shoulders, Baekhyun observes it all, and wonders.

Yixing never lingers, usually. His affection is there only for a moment, before Yixing takes a reasonable distance.

But not with Baekhyun.

On his birthday, on May 6th, Yixing had encompassed Baekhyun in a tight hug, squeezing him with strength with their chests flush against each other and stealing the breath out of Baekhyun’s lungs. Baekhyun had mostly been surprised, before shaking off the heat under his skin with a nervous laugh he hopes only sounded startled. However, when Yixing pulled away, he kept a secure hand on the small of Baekhyun’s back, and Baekhyun couldn’t find it within himself to move away.

Part of him thinks he should have. The other, the more stubborn and less rational side of his mind, takes over and lets it be.

Maybe he should learn to control that side of himself, but for now, he doesn’t think too much of it.

So Baekhyun revels in Yixing’s touch, even though he will never let it show, not entirely. He will lean in when Yixing offers, but he won’t seek out for contact. That would mean making himself obvious.

Obvious of what, Baekhyun isn’t sure, but it’s better not to risk it.

For now, he doesn’t give any meaning to it, either. It’s easier this way. He doesn’t have to question Yixing’s hand on his elbow or their shoulders and thighs touching when they have plenty of room not to. He doesn’t think twice when Yixing leaves his arm around his shoulders after greeting him. He doesn’t wonder why he feels so fidgety yet so calm whenever he feels Yixing’s presence next to him. He doesn’t second guess anything because none of this has any meaning.

It’s easier.

Sometimes, however, he catches Jongdae’s piercing gaze on them, often times fixing whatever point of contact between Baekhyun and Yixing, and Baekhyun’s stomach turns. There’s usually nothing in Jongdae’s eyes during those moments—nothing _bad_ per se, anyway—so it isn’t too bad, but the unease remains, pushing Baekhyun to put space between him and Yixing.

In truth, Jongdae doesn’t seem anything more than curious at whatever relationship Baekhyun and Yixing have, and if Baekhyun’s honest, he’s just as clueless as his friend.

Not that Yixing could ever be more than… this. He can’t. They can’t afford it.

Minseok seems to notice something as well, but he isn’t like Jongdae. Minseok doesn’t hide the surprise in his eyes, nor does he hide the dark, questioning depth his gaze takes when it flicks between Baekhyun and Yixing when they’re sitting too close. However, Baekhyun only needs to crack a joke for Minseok’s eyes to turn back to their usual wit, and Baekhyun breathes relief every time.

He knows Minseok isn’t so forgetful nor is he that thoughtless, but Baekhyun doesn’t want to _think_ about it.

Baekhyun has had a childhood of uncertainty. He’s had teenage years tainted by an agitated Japanese occupation slowly losing its hold on Korea. He spent his early twenties in the middle of the Second World War, stuck in some camp in Japan he doesn’t even remember the name of. He’s had friends along the way, some he still has by his side nowadays, of course, but he’s lost some as well. Family, too.

He’s tired.

If Yixing’s touch brings him comfort, then it’s only his business and his business alone and no one should care. No one has to know. And Baekhyun doesn’t have to _think_.

He’ll let Yixing rest his hand at the small of his back, for as long as the Chinese man keeps it there.

***

The world doesn’t stop just because Yixing is there, though.

May 10 welcomes Korea’s first elections, and according to the radio news, the turnout had been impressive. Most of the village had turned up at the primary school down the main road where the makeshift polling place was set up.

Jongdae, Minseok, and Baekhyun opted out. Baekhyun didn’t have much interest for elections—he just wants peace. He was surprised at Jongdae’s decision, however. His best friend has always shown a deep interest in politics, in the future of their motherland that kept on becoming more and more uncertain, and Baekhyun would have thought him to be first in line, on the morning of the 10th of May, at the polling station.

When Baekhyun inquired him about it, Jongdae had only shrugged, murmuring about political pleasantries in a tone that might have aimed for joking, but the tense line of his shoulders told Baekhyun otherwise. He didn’t ask, though.

They were lucky nothing happened to them. That night, as he, Jongdae, Minseok, and Yixing listened to the radio tucked in Minseok’s room at the guesthouse, Baekhyun heard about massacres occurring at various polling places across the country, especially in Seoul and near the border with the North. They were no exact numbers out yet, but Baekhyun didn’t need any to feel bile climbing up to his throat as the anchor spoke of prayers and thoughts.

It had been a while since they had done this—follow up on news, in Minseok’s room. With Yixing’s arrival, they had taken up so much time to help him acclimate to the life in the village that they forgot, in some way, about the outside world, even though they lived in it. Baekhyun notices more and more how Yixing’s presence seems to slip in everyone’s life, as he leaves his marks behind in all sorts of little things.

The elections were a reminder of another life, a life occurring at the outskirts of the village, especially at the not-so-far Seoul that Baekhyun hasn’t visited in a while. He doesn’t think he wants to much, lately.

That night, as they sat in Minseok’s room, Jongdae and Minseok having each opted for the chairs by the desk, Baekhyun had observed Yixing, his eyes intent on the radio on the desk but his gaze far, far away. He looked serious, almost terrifyingly so, but there was no disdain on his face. There was no sign of satisfaction, either. Yixing only looked focused, and almost regretful. He looked like the man who had stormed into Baekhyun’s shop and Baekhyun’s life, that evening in April. A stranger, broken and lost.

It didn’t take much for Yixing to regain that spark of cheerfulness to his eyes, however. Although it was a little dim and conflicted with something else going on behind those dark eyes of his, it only took a promise of drinks for his easy smile to slip back on his lips. Baekhyun had frowned at it, but again, he didn’t pry.

Baekhyun didn’t pay attention to the results of the vote. They didn’t matter to him. He’s well over his scorching desire to fight for a country that is already fighting against itself anyway. Whatever happens to this country—whoever wins, _whatever_ wins—he couldn’t care less, as long as his loved ones were kept safe. It’s all he’s asking for.

It’s the only promise he wants God to keep.

***

Now that most of the work was done in the fields for the spring, Baekhyun is assigned more hours at the bookstore.

Sometimes, he wonders how Mr. Lee manages to keep the shop open despite its low income and overall oddity. Bookstores in Seoul weren’t a strange thing, but in a farmer’s village like theirs, it was no common occurrence, far from it. However, Mr. Lee had insisted on opening it, years ago when Baekhyun was still hiding behind his grandmother’s skirts, and he now insists on keeping it open.

He tells Yixing so as he keeps himself busy between the aisles, restocking new arrivals and taking out some books Mr. Lee had asked him to put back in the backroom.

Yixing is again seated on the counter at the back of the store, a novel on his lap to which he barely pays attention to. His legs are dangling in front of him, his hands on the wooden counter next to his knees, and he’s wearing Minseok’s spectacles on his nose. They look good on him, Baekhyun thinks.

“I understand that,” Yixing says with a sigh. The book on his lap is at a dangerous equilibrium, and Baekhyun raises an eyebrow at it, although he knows Yixing isn’t looking at him. “How Mr. Lee would want to keep this place open. It’s like… There’s nothing like it around here, right?”

“Bookstores around here? I just told you, no villages around—”

“No, no,” Yixing cuts, shaking his head. His hair is growing, his messy bangs going past his eyebrows now. Baekhyun should let Soojung know about it, maybe she’d agree to cut them. “I mean, like, places like this one. Where people can just escape the outside.”

Baekhyun stops, looking up to Yixing between the shelves. He has a pensive look on his face, but it isn’t closed off—in fact, it’s open and raw and there’s something about it that prompts Baekhyun to join him on the counter.

Their thighs are touching again. Baekhyun pays no mind to it. “Is that how you think of this place?” Baekhyun asks.

“Maybe, yeah,” Yixing hums. He turns to shoot an amused look at Baekhyun. “Don’t you?”

Baekhyun smiles back at him, turning to stare at the shelves displayed before them. “I guess I can see it, yeah. I’m practically living here, though.”

Yixing nods next to him, but Baekhyun knows he has something in mind. He jostles him slightly, and Yixing chuckles in surprise, before he carries on. “Books, Baekhyun. Books help people escape. And there’s tons of them here. It’s not something you can find anywhere, like you said. Escapes are hard to find too, these days.”

Baekhyun thinks of Soojung, of her smiles when she stops by, always smiling, waltzing through the aisles as she skims through new titles that catch her attention. He thinks of Mr. Lee as his old self still manages to lift heavy boxes full of books to hand to Baekhyun, a reverent look in his eyes as he stares at them. Both of them are people who have lost a lot during the past few years, and Baekhyun knows this is a place where they can forget a little about it.

He then thinks of Yixing who’s right next to him. A question burns his tongue, and this time, he doesn’t hold back. “Are you escaping something, Yixing?”

The question visibly takes him off guard, but Yixing hides it well. He swallows, looking like he’s pondering his answer. Baekhyun lets him. “Maybe,” Yixing lets out after a moment. “I’m not sure. I think I’m somewhere in between escaping, and looking for something.”

“How’s that going?”

Yixing smiles, a little sadly, but a dimple makes a shy appearance. “Not so bad, to be honest. But I’m not sure.”

“What is it you’re looking for?” The questions keep coming, and Baekhyun can’t stop.

“I don’t know. But… I know it’s something. There’s something.”

“Have you found it here?” It’s a dangerous question, but Baekhyun asks it nonetheless.

Yixing looks at him from behind his eyelashes. Minseok’s glasses leave thin shadows on his face under the pale light of the shop. “I think so.”

Baekhyun stares back, and his words are cut short. Yixing is _stunning_ —he rarely admits it to himself, but it isn’t a lie; the young man is simply gorgeous, all sharpness and soft edges all at once, and it drives Baekhyun in and it’s dangerous.

Dangerous, but beautiful nonetheless.

Before Baekhyun can say anything, or ask any other question, Yixing tilts his head, smiles, and breaks their stare contest as he turns to sigh at the direction of the shelves. “You still haven’t told me.”

Baekhyun sputters, before he clears his throat. It’s embarrassing how… Nothing. “Told you what?”

“Places like this. Are there any around here?”

Pursuing his lips, Baekhyun thinks. “There’s the tavern, I guess, but that doesn’t really count,” he explains. “Alcohol isn’t really a healthy escape, is it?”

Yixing shrugs. “Depends how you see it. But carry on.”

With a hum, Baekhyun ponders. “To be honest,” he starts, his eyes slowly darting mindlessly as he gets lost in his thoughts, “I think there’s only the fields, aside from here. People like it, there. Whether it’s the paddy fields, or the Parks’ vegetable farm, or about anything that grows around here. I think… I think people find peace in the fields. Taking care of something, getting something in return, and the cycle resumes.”

“Is that how you see it?” Yixing asks, his voice soft.

“Yeah,” Baekhyun replies. “It’s always been like that for me. Ever since I was little. I’ve lived in those paddy fields all my life, almost.”

“Then I’m glad,” Yixing says, before pulling Baekhyun close with an arm around his shoulders. Baekhyun is startled, but he goes along, leaning onto Yixing’s touch and letting his head fall on his friend’s shoulder.

Baekhyun doesn’t ask Yixing about his odd response. He also doesn’t dwell on the fact that to anyone who would happen to walk in on them, they would look rather close and intimate, for two friends spending some time together. He especially doesn’t worry about that, because Yixing’s warmth next to him is too comforting to let go of.

“So why does Mr. Lee keep this place open, then?” Yixing asks, shaking Baekhyun out of his thoughts. He’s thankful for the distraction.

“You’re pretty damn curious, today,” Baekhyun murmurs.

With a half-smile that he hides in Baekhyun’s hair, Yixing replies, “You love it.”

Yixing isn’t wrong. He loves owning Yixing’s attention, but he also loves his simple curiosity, his earnestness. He also loves how close he is, Yixing’s lips on his head sending a shudder through him.

“I think it has to do with Jinki,” Baekhyun starts. “Lee-ahjussi’s son.”

“Where is he now?” Yixing asks, but there’s a tone to his voice that makes it sound like he has an idea about the answer.

“No one knows,” Baekhyun says. “He hasn’t been back since the end of the war, in 1945. Like my brother, and Jongdae’s brother too. They have no idea where to find them, or look for them.”

Yixing squeezes him instead of saying anything, and Baekhyun is grateful.

“Jinki loved books,” he continues. “I mean, so does Mr. Lee—Jinki was only like, eleven when the shop opened, so it was really his own initiative when he started this. But as Jinki grew up, he would spend all his time here. We’d join him, sometimes. He would tell us stories and would recommend us some books, too. That’s how I fell in love with this place myself.”

The soft press of Yixing’s head falling on his own and his fingers on his arm is reassuring. It lets Baekhyun know that Yixing is listening, despite staying silent.

“In some of the books—the ones in Korean, anyway—you can still see some scribbles Jinki left behind,” Baekhyun smiles. After a moment, he continues, his tone a mere whisper. “I think Lee-ahjussi just wants to keep Jinki alive, here. Not that he isn’t, we don’t know that, but… It’s a matter of memory, I guess.”

It’s a little hard to talk about those things. But Yixing understands—he seems to understand better than anyone else, Baekhyun thinks to himself—and so he doesn’t pry.

“Holding onto memories can’t be too good,” Yixing says, but there’s no disapproval in his tone.

“That’s true,” Baekhyun says. “But like you said—this is an escape, to some people. I think it has become Mr. Lee’s escape, too.”

Yixing only hums, and a comfortable silence falls upon them. Baekhyun can hear Yixing breathe next to him, all around him, can feel the heat of his body seeping through his own clothes and warming his own skin. They’re so close, closer than usual, and Baekhyun doesn’t know what to do of it.

He loves it, though; he lets Yixing sway them softly from left to right, and he’s almost tempted to close his eyes, get lost in the moment.

Then he remembers something. “Do you have an escape, Yixing?”

“Didn’t I just say I was escaping something?” Yixing is amused, not closing off on Baekhyun. That’s always good.

“No, I mean—”

“I know what you mean, I’m only teasing you,” Yixing laughs. After a short silence, he resumes. “There used to be singing. Or just music, in general.”

Baekhyun lifts his head up to meet Yixing’s eyes, a grin on his lips. “You sing too?”

“I’m not nearly as good as you are,” Yixing huffs, but there’s red tinting his cheeks, and Baekhyun almost coos at him. “But back home, I had a friend. We would spend hours in the woods by our village just going through the trails and singing. We would come up with songs, too. Lu Han was gifted with an incredible voice.”

It’s the first time Yixing talks about his friends from China. In fact, it’s only the second time Yixing ever makes allusion to his life—his _real_ life, composed of his memories and feelings and past friendships—since that one time he told Baekhyun about the fields, by the edges of his village near Changsha, a little while ago.

Baekhyun listens intently. “Will you sing them to me?” he asks instead of inquiring about Lu Han. The use of past tense in Yixing’s sentence had told him enough.

“No,” is Yixing’s firm answer, but Baekhyun hears a smile in his voice. “I barely remember the songs, anyway.”

“Now that’s a blatant lie,” Baekhyun retorts. “And it would only be fair, you know. If I agreed to sing for you, then you have to sing for me, too.”

“We’ll see about that, Baekhyun,” Yixing says, and it cuts their conversation short, but not in a bad way. Baekhyun knows he hasn’t lost this battle.

Yixing heaves a sigh, pulling his arm from around Baekhyun to close the still open book in his lap. Baekhyun silently mourns the loss of contact, but not for long. He has things to attend to, anyway, and talking to Yixing has revealed itself to be massively distracting already.

He decides to drag Yixing with him through the aisles, shoving a box of books in his arms, asking him to give him a hand and put them out on the shelves. When Yixing complains about not knowing what to do, Baekhyun only replies that “those are Chinese books, Yixing, you probably know how to sort them out better than I ever could.”

Baekhyun knows anyway that Yixing’s attempt at rebutting his orders was only for play. He knows the Chinese man wouldn’t hesitate to help him, at any time, and he hears it in the sweet laugh Yixing gives him before taking off.

 

 

***

 

 

***

_À côté de son cher corps endormi, que d'heures des nuits j'ai veillé, cherchant pourquoi il voulait tant s'évader de la réalité._

***

Some day in late May, Jongdae comes by Baekhyun’s grandmother’s house, like many mornings before.

Baekhyun wakes up to his cheerful albeit too loud shouting, and grumbles threats mixed with greetings as his best friend stares at him with a smile that tugs at the curved corners of his lips. However, even in his sleepy state, Baekhyun notices Jongdae flexing his fingers, fidgeting ever so slightly at Baekhyun’s side.

Jongdae, through the years, has become very good at hiding his emotions. Baekhyun has known him the longest time, though, and he’s glad he can still pick up on his thoughts, as much as Jongdae tries to hide them.

He lets him have his show, though, and doesn’t ask any questions just yet. Jongdae bugs him good-naturedly, and Baekhyun takes it in, because he loves his friend’s company no matter what. He trusts Jongdae to tell him what’s on his mind when he’s ready.

It doesn’t take long. They’re having late breakfast in the kitchen, rice with some kimchi Jongdae had brought from Minseok’s guesthouse earlier. Baekhyun’s grandmother is outside, walking through the fields and crouching slightly to observe the plants. She’ll probably ask them to attend to them soon; they haven’t done much in the paddy fields since the planting, and they’re due for a check-up.

Jongdae munches on his food distractedly. Baekhyun steals a few looks at him, before prodding him with his chopsticks. “Spill.”

His friend looks up, feigning confusion for a second before he judges it futile. He slumps on the table, leaving his chopsticks on the table and bringing his hands over his face. “I need to go to Seoul.”

At Jongdae’s words, Baekhyun slows down his movements. “What’s up?”

“A lot?” Jongdae replies, turning shy and scratching his neck. Jongdae never gets shy. This is weird. “It’s mostly, like, picking up orders for the drugstore, and maybe replenishing the tavern’s alcohol reserves.”

“You can get all of that delivered here,” Baekhyun says. “And it isn’t that expensive, either.”

“I know,” Jongdae sighs. He looks tired, and Baekhyun is so curious, but there’s dread pooling at his insides. “I volunteered to go, though.”

“Did something come up?”

“It depends.”

Baekhyun stops eating, staring at his friend intently until he looks back up to him. Once he’s gotten Jongdae’s attention, he speaks, tone careful. “Jongdae, does it have to do with what’s going on lately?”

What’s going with the South and the North, Left and Right, Up and Down. Baekhyun doesn’t fucking care but Jongdae does, and this is Jongdae caving in.

“It’s just a meeting,” Jongdae explains. “Nothing illicit, or anything. It’s just a conference, sort of, held in some tea salon in Seoul, and they’ll just be talking about the elections and the new Constitution. Just a talk. I haven’t gone in months, you know that.”

Baekhyun will never understand what still drives Jongdae to _care_. Baekhyun has given up a long time ago, as he watched his friends and then himself being taken away, the entire land around him falling apart. It’s a miracle he’s still alive, still has Jongdae and Minseok and Soojung and his grandmother by his side along with everyone else. It’s a miracle he still has a life at all. He promised himself not to let go of it, no matter the price.

But Jongdae has never been like this—Jongdae is an idealist, promises of peace and national pride swimming in his head with a hope of a better future for himself and Korea as a whole keeping him going. Baekhyun used to be like that, but not anymore. Jongdae has never lost it; if anything, their time in Japan had only made him more convinced of his ideas.

During the winter, Jongdae’s trips to Seoul to attend various meetings, some less legal than others, were rather frequent. Sometimes, Minseok would keep him company, some others it would be Baekhyun. Often, Jongdae would go alone, when he wasn’t staying for a night or two.

Baekhyun didn’t mind going with Jongdae, as long as he didn’t take part in anything. He would often make use of the occasion to pick up a few things for his grandmother or Soojung that he knows they can’t find in their modest village, and he sometimes ends up in small tea houses or some Western-influenced bars where he could let his worries fly away for a bit to the sound of a music he doesn’t know but has slowly fallen in love with. They would meet again in the evening, opting for a cheap room in some guesthouse in the outskirts of the city before heading back the next morning. It was never good to take the roads at night.

The last they went together was February. The last time Jongdae went to Seoul was early March. It’s now nearing June, and the offer stood uneasy with Baekhyun.

“You want me to come with you?”

Jongdae squirms in his seat, picking up his chopsticks and shifting his gaze onto his food, although he barely touched it. “If you don’t mind. Minseok is busy with the guesthouse and this new kid he’s gotten earlier this week. I can go alone, though, if you’d rather stay. I’ll take a room on my own.”

Kim Jongin, Baekhyun recalls. That was the new guest at Minseok’s house, a young worker on his way to Seoul himself who had stopped by for a few days for shelter and food. He was staying for a short time only; Baekhyun had found him rather sweet under his shy manners and strikingly attractive features.

“I’ll come with,” Baekhyun answers. He isn’t letting Jongdae room alone in Seoul any time soon, and he knows his friend would like the company. “When is it?”

Jongdae shoots him a grateful look before replying. “In two days. We’ll leave in the afternoon, yeah? And come back the next day.”

Baekhyun wants to sigh, as heavily as he feels, but he restrains himself. He’ll find something to do, in Seoul. It won’t take too long. “Okay,” he agrees.

When Jongdae starts munching on his food this time, it’s a little more cheerfully. Baekhyun grins at him, although there are still wistful thoughts clouding his mind.

Suddenly, he thinks of something, and stops himself. He doesn’t know why there’s a knot in his stomach as he goes over the words in his mouth before letting them out. Maybe it’s because everything about this seems so unsure already, and bringing this to the table might not be a good idea. Baekhyun can’t help himself, though.

“What about Yixing?” he asks timidly, although he hopes Jongdae doesn’t pay much attention to it.

Jongdae looks up to him, eyebrows raised. “What about him?”

Baekhyun feels hot under his clothes, under his skin. He doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know much about anything, lately. “Minseok will be busy with that Kim Jongin kid, like you said. I’ll be gone, and so will you. There’ll only be Soojung around, maybe Chanyeol if he’s done planting his stuff by then, but…”

Words don’t come out. They don’t come out, because Baekhyun doesn’t know where he’s going with this, and he doesn’t understand why his request sounds so… He doesn’t understand why things are suddenly awfully complicated.

The eyes staring at him don’t help, either. Jongdae is looking at him with wonder, questions visibly at the tip of his tongue Baekhyun hopes he doesn’t ask. He wouldn’t know what to say. However, there’s only good intentions, no apprehension in Jongdae’s gaze. It calms Baekhyun’s nerves a little, despite remaining on the edge.

After a careful silence, Jongdae nods slowly. “He can come too. I know you don’t like these things anyway, so he could keep you company or whatever,” he says, waving a hand in the air, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “Make him visit Seoul, while you’re at it.” Seemingly on an afterthought, he adds, “Be careful, Baekhyun.”

Baekhyun doesn’t pay mind to the heavy charge of Jongdae’s words. He only smiles, a little relief washing through him, although his lips feel pulled too tight on his face. “Okay,” he says again, and he starts eating to give himself something to do.

It’s not long before Jongdae starts rambling about various nothings, dissipating the strange tension in the room and untightening Baekhyun’s muscles bit by bit. Baekhyun is grateful for the distraction, and enjoys the excitement slowly building in his chest at the prospect of a Seoul adventure with Yixing.

***

Yixing’s reaction had been peculiar.

When Baekhyun had stormed in his room, after Jongdae had left that morning for the drugstore while Baekhyun stopped by the guesthouse to pick up Yixing on his way to the bookstore, he found Yixing already tying his shoes, the fabric of his shirt pulling at his back and showing toned muscles. Baekhyun had to take a step back, breathe, before walking in.

Yixing was all smiles, and excitement was glimmering in his eyes at Baekhyun’s words. However, as soon as Baekhyun mentioned Seoul, something flickered in Yixing’s gaze, akin to surprise mixed with fear.

It was quickly hidden, though, but Baekhyun had seen it. Yixing was scared.

Baekhyun doesn’t know what caused it—the idea of going to Seoul, or Jongdae’s motive to go (despite Baekhyun remaining vague about that, but he had thought Yixing ought to know). Yixing’s uneasiness was a mystery.

He agreed nonetheless, and even insisted after Baekhyun had told him that he didn’t have to come—nothing obliged him to follow Baekhyun anywhere, in the end. But Yixing had expressed time and time again that yes, he wanted to come, and so Baekhyun let him.

Yixing hadn’t shown any other sign of discomfort as they spent their day together, despite Baekhyun being slightly on the lookout. At the end of the day, he almost thought he had imagined the apprehension in Yixing’s eyes. He still isn’t completely sure.

They’re currently driving to the city in Chanyeol’s car (the only vehicle the village owns; although it’s technically the Parks’, it comes to the help and use of everyone, and it’s not like Chanyeol’s family minds, either). It’s a small pick-up like truck, with the back wooden and open to the air where Baekhyun, Jongdae and Yixing are sitting, while Chanyeol drives. Yixing has an arm over the side fence of the truck, his hair wild and ruffled by the wind, his eyes piercing the horizon as he tries to keep the sun out of them. Baekhyun is facing him, his knees brought to rest against his chest as his back is supported by the wood fence behind them. Jongdae is slumped against the front car, asleep and hugging his messenger bag, a hat low on his face.

It's around three in the afternoon, and they should reach the capital in about two hours. The roads aren’t too bad at this time of the year; rain hasn’t hit them in a while, so there’s no mud to slow them down; only a couple of rocks sometimes getting caught in the wheels, but that’s not too bad.

“What’s on your mind?” Baekhyun asks.

Yixing turns to look at him, his eyes turned into slits because of the glaring early summer sun above them. He pursues his lips, not exactly frowning, but not exactly smiling either. Something in between. “Seoul,” Yixing answers.

“Have you ever been before?”

“Only once,” Yixing says above the wind. “I walked the entire journey from Incheon and through Seoul, before I found you. I don’t remember much of it, to be honest.”

 _Before I found you_. Not “before I found the village,” or “before I found you guys.” Yixing’s words are personal and send a shiver down Baekhyun’s warm body.

Baekhyun also catches the mention of Incheon, and it makes sense. The city holds Korea’s second largest port, after all, and the closest one to China. Unless Yixing had taken the route from the North to reach them, crossing the Yellow Sea was what made most sense.

It could also explain Yixing’s foot injury—walking all that distance by foot surely wasn’t easy, and although Baekhyun still wonders how his sprained ankle came to be, he isn’t as surprised anymore.

Baekhyun still wonders what pushed Yixing to leave. Maybe today isn’t the day to ask, though.

“Excited?” Baekhyun inquires instead.

Yixing scrunches his nose. “Not sure,” he says. “But I have you, right? Please tell me we won’t get lost.”

Baekhyun smiles grandly, and Yixing retaliates. “But what’s the fun in that, though?”

The laugh Yixing lets out is incredulous, and Baekhyun starts laughing with him. “Baekhyun-ssi, you’d better not lose me in Seoul!” says Yixing with a loud voice.

Baekhyun scoots to sit next to Yixing hurriedly, pressing a finger on Yixing’s lips and pointing towards Jongdae, who’s still sleeping although he’s started to squirm. Baekhyun snorts when Yixing’s eyes grow bigger with the surprise, before relaxing into two happy crescents.

Baekhyun usually never initiates contact between he and Yixing, and it also takes him by surprise, but now that he’s started, he’s afraid he won’t be able to stop. That’s a thought for another day, though.

Now, as the car around them shakes and drives, he sits more comfortably by Yixing’s side, hooking his arm around his friend’s. The truck is small enough to excuse their closeness, Baekhyun reassures himself. “I’m playing, I’m playing, don’t worry,” he says. “I’ll show you around; there’s some places I want to take you, anyway.”

“You still owe me a tour of the village, you know,” Yixing says. When Baekhyun turns to look at him, he finds him with his neck exposed, his head thrown back and his eyes closed.

Baekhyun feels hot all over, something like trepidation and an overwhelming urge to touch going through him. He refrains himself just in time, though.

“You already know most of it by now, though,” Baekhyun replies with a breathless voice. “You don’t need me as a guide anymore.”

“I don’t know all of the village, like you said,” Yixing says. “You’ll have to show me, when we get back.”

“Look at you,” Baekhyun huffs, turning and mimicking Yixing’s position, his eyes closed under the afternoon sun. It feels comfortable. “Ordering me around and everything.”

“You love it.”

“You _have_ to stop saying that.”

“Not when it’s the truth.”

“Brat.”

Baekhyun smiles at the sound of Yixing’s laugh loud in the air. If Jongdae wakes up this time, he doesn’t mind.

***

Seoul is big. Very, _very_ big.

The city is littered with Western-looking buildings left behind by the Japanese, with smaller, more modest constructions squeezed between them. The main streets are large and paved, and numerous, and Baekhyun feels a little dizzy when they start entering the city.

It’s so different from what he’s used to, even though some of these streets have become familiar to him, too. He isn’t used to so many people, though, and he isn’t used to the trolley street cars or the abundant city noise or anything that’s around him. Part of him is somewhat uneasy, but mostly, the prospect of the new and unknown leaves him excited.

Especially as he feels Yixing’s presence next to him, solid and warm and true.

Chanyeol drops them off at the South Gate, before promising to be back at the same place the next day, early in the morning. They thank him, and as soon as the truck drives off, Jongdae turns to Baekhyun and Yixing with a tight-lipped smile.

“So,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets. His small cap makes him look a little older, making his features look more prominent. “I have to go now if I don’t want to be late. I’ll see you guys later?”

Baekhyun nods, and Yixing follows him, although Baekhyun can sense his confusion. “Same place as usual?” Baekhyun asks.

Jongdae nods. “See you then,” he says with a smile that’s a little more genuine, pulling both Baekhyun and Yixing in a quick, one-armed embrace before taking off.

They watch him walk a few streets before Yixing asks, “Where are we even meeting him?”

“We always book a room at the same guesthouse each time we’re around here,” Baekhyun says. “We usually wait for the other, there. We spend the night, and we leave the next morning.”

“Uh,” is Yixing’s simple reply. He nods curtly, behind taking in a deep breath, as if he was inhaling all of Seoul at once. “So where are you taking me first?”

The smile that paints itself over Baekhyun’s lips is involuntary, for the most part. “On a walk. Come on.”

They take their time walking the main streets, Yixing craning his neck up to stare at the higher buildings and their signs. He reads the _hanja_ characters, all of them, even though some of them still mean nothing to him. Baekhyun listens to him, correcting him when he knows better, staying put when he’s just as clueless. Yixing asks about little things, too, like the city’s recent history, and Baekhyun answers at the best of his capacity.

They pass less American soldiers here—they’re all staying put in their headquarters at the outskirts of the town, Baekhyun presumes. Instead, they pass by UN offices showing off big, imposing English words that neither of them can read, decorated with flags of countries Baekhyun hasn’t heard of elsewhere than on the news. Instead of being intimidated, Yixing only stops to properly stare at the sign, a cold look in his eyes. Baekhyun observes as Yixing’s mouth turns sour almost at the sight, before he starts walking away, staring straight ahead and calling Baekhyun to follow him, suddenly leading.

That doesn’t last long, though, and Yixing is back at asking Baekhyun various questions. The curiosity Baekhyun loves so much about his friend is showing evidently today, and Baekhyun tries his best not to smile ridiculously every three to four minutes.

They pick up snacks from some old lady selling food by one of the smaller buildings, and struggle to keep the honey from sticking to their fingers. Baekhyun gives up after a while, licking them clean, and Yixing laughs obnoxiously—and rather adorably—before doing the same, and Baekhyun…

Baekhyun is happy. He is so happy he is about to burst with it, and he doesn’t know what to do, so he drags Yixing further down the streets.

They spend nearly hours just walking, not hand in hand but close enough that if Baekhyun reached out, he could intertwine his fingers with Yixing’s easily. Not that he would. But they’re that close. Their proximity is almost unseen within the anonymous crowds, and Baekhyun almost falls in love with Seoul right then, just because.

He doesn’t understand what suddenly drives him, but it’s invigorating and his heart burns with a warmth he’s never felt before.

***

It soon gets dark around them, the streets only lit up by the light coming from the various shops lined up by the sidewalks. Neither of them are hungry enough for dinner, so they decide to skip it altogether.

When they turn back on another main street, not too far from where Baekhyun knows their usual guesthouse to be, he grabs Yixing’s hands and pulls him behind him.

It’s the second time today only he’s reached to touch Yixing, to hold him close, and it feels… good. Not as scary, as confusing as it used to be.

“Baekhyun, wait!” Yixing shouts behind him, laughter tinting his voice. “Where are you taking me?”

“I’m taking you to the music,” Baekhyun replies, and feels Yixing falter behind him.

Baekhyun turns to find Yixing staring at him with the most awestruck, adoring, yet surprised look Baekhyun has ever seen on him. He feels hot under the attention, but he holds Yixing’s gaze, who suddenly breaks out into a huge smile that could light up all the dark streets around them on its own. “Music?” Yixing asks, breathless.

Baekhyun nods, pulling insistently at Yixing’s wrist. “Yes, music. Now come on! We’ll be late for the first show.”

They enter a small pub, catered to English speakers as the letters on the front sign testify. Inside, they find a mix of young Koreans and American soldiers off-duty, with a seemingly American band setting up at the makeshift stage at the end of the room that serves as the establishment. Lights are low, and the smell of smoke heavy in the air, but Baekhyun still breathes through it, tasting alcohol on his tongue. The band starts tuning their instruments, and Baekhyun feels alive.

Yixing squeezes his hand, and Baekhyun meets his eyes behind his shoulder. He looks somewhat lost, but also incredibly intrigued, and that’s exactly the reaction Baekhyun had hoped. He pulls at Yixing’s hands until their arms are touching from shoulder to the tip of their fingers, and leans in to speak in his ear.

“Want a drink?” he asks, and smiles slightly as Yixing recoils at Baekhyun’s breath against his neck with a start.

But Yixing squeezes his hand again, and nods. “Sure, let’s go,” he says breathlessly, and Baekhyun’s smile grows.

They get a bottle of soju each, and sit by a table in the shadows left by the dim lights around them. It’s next to the furthest wall to the door, where prying eyes would be less likely to venture. It feels nice and intimate and Baekhyun feels like it’s just them and the band, the small crowd scattered in the room seemingly far, far away.

Neither of them gets to say a word after they sit down, as the band begins playing right away. It starts with a slow piano melody, and a soulful voice speaking words Baekhyun can’t understand.

He loves it, though.

He smells the alcohol and the smoke and tastes all of it at once. He feels Yixing next to him, breathing and warm and alive and most likely going through the same thing as him, slowly getting entranced by the entire atmosphere around them. He hears the murmurs of the crowd faintly around them, lets them lull him.

But most of all, Baekhyun listens. He listens to the scratchy voice of the American singer on the wooden stage a few meters away from them; he studies it as much as he enjoys the sound of it. He listens attentively to the piano, and soon enough the gentle strum of a guitar that accompanies it; he gets caught up in the drummed beat of the song that’s mellow and that sends a thrumming heat through Baekhyun’s limbs.

Music is his escape, he remembers. Not that he forgets exactly, but he doesn’t get to enjoy it like _this_ rather often. There’s singing in the fields, and Mr. Lee’s piano—that he’s only picked up on after hearing and mimicking the various pianists he sometimes watches here, in this pub lost in time and space he was lucky enough to find many months before. But nothing compares to this. Nothing compares to listening and feeling all at once, and Baekhyun wants nothing more than to join them.

He doesn’t mind sitting back and enjoying the show, though. He loves it so much.

After the first song, the band immediately carries on with their second piece, and Baekhyun forces himself to look away and steal a glance at Yixing.

Next to him, Yixing is captivated, despite his closed eyes. He has his head resting on the wall next to him, and a smile plays on his lips. The low lights trace deep shadows all around his face, playing with the sharpness of his cheekbones and nose, and it’s another one of those times where Baekhyun thinks he is simply _stunning_.

Yixing is swirling his bottle of soju gently in his left hand, the alcohol sloshing against the green glass, while the fingers of his other hand are drumming the beat of the song delicately. If Baekhyun listens intently, he can find Yixing humming a complementary melody of his own, that is unlike the one around them but that matches it wonderfully. The smile on his lips grows and fades, back and forth, and Baekhyun is fascinated. The way Yixing gets lost in the music is different from what it is for Baekhyun, but he can still see that the pleasure they get from it—the _escape_ —is the same.

Something grows in Baekhyun, something rooted deep and pulling strongly, pushing from the inside at his skin and making him gasp for air.

Thinking becomes difficult, but there’s nothing clearer in his mind right now than the music he hears and the image of Yixing in front of him. That, he knows, is a moment he will never forget; the certainty of it is striking and Baekhyun is dizzy with it.

The giddiness in his bones makes him start laughing softly, almost nervously, and that seems to pull at Yixing’s smile that suddenly dimples. He opens his eyes slowly, and Baekhyun finds them bright, shining despite the faint darkness around them.

“Are you laughing at me?” Yixing asks, his voice soft but Baekhyun hears it anyway.

“No, not at all,” replies Baekhyun. He takes a moment to smile, to study Yixing’s face, and Yixing offers no resistance, only follows Baekhyun’s gaze with a mirrored grin. “I’m happy, that’s it.”

“I’m happy, too,” Yixing murmurs. He closes his eyes again. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

“I’m glad you enjoy it.”

“How could I not?”

It’s insane how much Baekhyun smiles around Yixing. He’s noticed himself before, and he notices again now, as he feels his cheeks pulling at his lips as he shows his teeth with his grin.

He doesn’t say another word, opting to listening to the band again, who’s now playing quicker songs that gets some of the crowd tapping their foot along.

The night goes by them like this—music, a little soju, and each other. Somewhere along, Baekhyun’s hand finds Yixing’s, and he holds on.

When the band’s set ends, it takes them a while to get up. They stay seated in silence for a moment, and Yixing is still humming, and Baekhyun keeps listening. Then, Yixing squeezes Baekhyun’s hand, and they don’t need to exchange a word before they’re both getting up, finding their way to the door.

Outside, the early summer air hits them strongly, no longer smelling of alcohol but something sweeter, mixed with the very distinct odor of the wind. Baekhyun takes a huge inhale, before letting it out slowly through his nose.

“Let’s go,” he says, pulling at Yixing’s hand before letting go.

He doesn’t want to, but the streets are empty at this hour, and they need to hurry back to the guesthouse. Jongdae is probably already waiting for them; thankfully, the walk isn’t too long.

Liquor is still cursing through their veins, and they each stumble a little on the way. They hold onto each other when they avoid falling, and if their touch lingers, there’s only the two of them to know.

Yixing truly seems happy, satisfied, the fear that he had when Baekhyun had told him about Seoul completely absent from his eyes. He recognizes himself in that happiness. He feels bigger than the universe, at this time.

Jongdae raises an eyebrow at them when they meet him at the door of the small guesthouse they’re spending the night at. He doesn’t seem to be worried, nor is he preoccupied. Despite his tipsy state, Baekhyun notices, and he’s glad.

“Had fun?” asks Jongdae. He shivers slightly at the wind.

“Loads,” replies Yixing before Baekhyun can say anything. “I love Seoul.”

Jongdae laughs, and it’s not long before Baekhyun and Yixing join him. They enter the guesthouse, where they decide on a room with three thin mattresses.

That night, Baekhyun dreams of soft fingers and a piano melody that won’t leave his head.

***

“I haven’t seen you this happy in ages, Baekhyunnie.”

Minseok’s words almost make Baekhyun jump, which is ridiculous, because it’s not like he didn’t know Minseok was there. It’s just something about what he said, and the way he said it.

It’s been about a week since the Seoul trip, and routine has quickly caught up again with Baekhyun. He spends most of his days with Yixing again, either at his house where he drops by more and more often, or at the bookstore. They also meet with Jongdae and Minseok, either at the tavern or the guesthouse for drinks and extra company.

Baekhyun raises his eyebrows at his friend, who’s behind the front desk of the guesthouse, opening the log book and jotting down today’s date, corresponding to Jongin’s departure from the house. “I’m always happy.”

It’s a lie, and both of them know it. But still—it’s not like Baekhyun is a sulking mess, most of the time. On the contrary, he prides himself for trying to be as lighthearted as possible, despite the war and the occasional problems they face. There’s no use being pessimistic when the world around him is ugly enough.

Minseok sighs. “That’s not it. You’re like… glowing, these days.”

Heat reaches Baekhyun’s cheeks, and he knows it isn’t because of the June morning air around them.

The smile Minseok gives him is genuine, but careful. “It’s a good look on you, Baekhyun.” It’s almost as though there’s a “but” that’s stuck at the tip of his tongue, but Minseok doesn’t continue. Baekhyun doesn’t ask.

“Yixing left earlier, by the way,” Minseok continues. He’s looking at Baekhyun with that odd look again. “Jongdae came to pick him up, said something about needing him at the drugstore. I trust you can find them both there.”

Baekhyun doesn’t know what’s hiding behind Minseok’s tone. He doesn’t know because there’s no reason for Minseok to _have_ a tone when speaking to him. There used to never be. “Right.”

He’s not forced to say anything, as Jongin comes out of his room then, dragging heavy bags, some of which are supported by his shoulders. He looks like he could crumble under the weight, but the young man seemingly isn’t even bothered.

“Baekhyun-ssi, hi,” Jongin says cheerfully. He puts down one of his bags and signs his name in the logbook when Minseok gestures for him to do so.

“Jongin,” Baekhyun replies with a smile. It’s fake, and Minseok probably sees it, but Jongin doesn’t know Baekhyun like Minseok does, so he won’t realize.

“Thank you, Kim Minseok-ssi,” Jongin turns to Minseok. “Thank you for this place.”

“No problem, kid. This place welcomes all. You can come back anytime.”

Baekhyun worries his lip between his teeth. It’s a little odd, how he feels right now. Like Minseok doesn’t trust him. Or maybe, like Minseok doesn’t see him the same way.

He knows the reason for it and sort of wishes it wasn’t so.

Baekhyun also knows that it wouldn’t be, or shouldn’t be enough to drive Minseok away, but it’s not like Minseok is right about anything. Because there’s nothing. Baekhyun is still Baekhyun, and Minseok is still his best friend, and that’s the end of it.

There’s Yixing, and Yixing is Yixing. That’s all Baekhyun knows.

Not that Yixing has to do with _anything_.

It’s getting harder to convince himself of that, though, as the memory of Yixing’s smile and his touch and dark shadows falling across his face haunt Baekhyun’s mind constantly. The wary looks Minseok gives him are also hard to ignore.

Baekhyun knows, deep down, that very little could truly cut his friend out of his life. There’s still a lot of care and a strong love directed towards him whenever Minseok meets his eyes. Minseok is his hyung, after all, and it had always been a habit of his to look after Baekhyun and Jongdae, despite them also being his closest friends. It’s just how their dynamic had always worked out for them. It wasn’t going to change anytime soon.

Baekhyun still worries, though.

Jongin picks up his bags, and with one last smile towards Baekhyun, leaves the guesthouse. Minseok claps his hands before rubbing them. He shoots a quick look at Baekhyun before speaking.

“Don’t just stand there, yeah? How about you give me a hand fixing up Jongin’s room?” He smiles, then adds, “We’ll meet Jongdae and Yixing after. How does that sound?”

Baekhyun sees through Minseok’s attempt at easing up the strange mood between them, but he isn’t one to back away from it. He musters the most genuine smile he can offer. “Great, actually. Let’s go, hyung.”

***

“You should weed the fields.”

He’s up early again. It hasn’t become a habit—it didn’t happen again since that morning in April, the night after meeting Yixing. But it somehow happened again this morning, and Baekhyun is sitting at the kitchen table with a freshly awake grandmother, rice, and tea.

He scratches his head as he answers. “Sure thing, halmeoni,” he replies easily.

“Get that new boy to help you, too,” his grandmother adds, and Baekhyun stops to look at her.

Her gaze is kind and unwavering, and Baekhyun doesn’t know what to make of it. He nods slowly. “All right, halmeoni.”

His grandmother rolls her eyes at him. “Is it the early morning that makes you speak like this, Baekhyunnie?”

Baekhyun shakes his head, in a way that’s overly cute that he knows makes his grandmother happy. “Maybe.” He takes a bite of rice, before continuing. “Yixing should be there soon, anyway. We’ll start as soon as he gets there.”

“Yixing,” she repeats, like she’s tasting the name on her tongue, figuring it out.

Baekhyun observes her, watches as the wrinkles on her face shift as she mulls over her thoughts. She’s old, Baekhyun thinks. It’s a little like she’s always been, and she has, to Baekhyun anyway. But now he truly sees the time passing as it leaves deeper folds on her skin and slows down her movements and takes a toll on her strength. She remains beautiful, though. Beautiful, and tough, and his grandmother, the one person who’s had the most faith in him, no matter what.

“I like him,” she says after a moment. “Yixing, I like him.”

Suddenly, Baekhyun’s bowl of rice seems awfully interesting. “I like him too,” he can’t help but say anyway.

He hears the smile in her voice without having to look up. “I know, Baekhyunnie. I know.”

***

Weeding is arguably Baekhyun’s least favourite chore.

Dirt gets stuck under his nails, the weeds often scratch at his ankles and wrists, and he usually ends up in a much more bitter mood than when he started. Clouds are looming low above them, dark and menacing to pour any moment now, and all Baekhyun really wants to do is… well, anything that doesn’t involve weeding, basically.

At least, it doesn’t take long; the weeds haven’t had much time to grow that much nor to disperse just yet, so there isn’t much to do. With the two of them, it should take Yixing and Baekhyun only a day, nothing more.

It’s still not exactly pleasant, and Baekhyun finds himself doing more complaining than actual work. Yixing stays put, working on a few plants ahead, a perpetual smile on his lips that has Baekhyun both captured and annoyed.

“How come are you smiling so much?” Baekhyun asks after a moment. He’s finished explaining just how annoying mud can get, especially now that the soil has soaked in most of the water and there’s only a thin layer of clear water left above the wet dirt. All that time, Yixing kept smiling, a teasing glint in his eyes. Baekhyun wants it gone as much as he loves it.

An amused, smug grin persists on Yixing’s lips, and he raises his eyes to meet Baekhyun’s with raised eyebrows. He stays silent; only chuckles before bending back again and pulling at the frizzy green plants stuck in the dirt.

Baekhyun scoffs, bringing his hands on his hips. “Yah! What’s so funny?”

Yixing only laughs at that, this time loud enough for Baekhyun to hear. “Nothing,” he says this time.

“Nothing? You’re kidding me!” Baekhyun shouts. Something pushes him to keep talking, keep saying complete nonsense, and it’s making Yixing’s eyes grow into tiny half-moon slits and his heart clutch on itself deliciously so he keeps going.

Yixing visibly forces himself not to smile, although his eyes betray him outrageously. “Nothing,” he repeats, his tone calm but fake, his dimple showing.

“Nothing, right,” Baekhyun mumbles, but a smile fights its way to his mouth. He’s being stubborn and rather ridiculous—when did he start acting so childishly? —but he can’t stop because Yixing is looking at him _that way_ and…

It feels nice.

They continue for a little while in silence. Baekhyun feels as though he can hear the clouds moving along with the wind above them, or maybe it’s just the sound of the plants at his feet rustling. Something serene reigns all around, but Baekhyun also has the impression it’s only the prologue to something else that is about to come—rain, maybe. Or something else.

“Baekhyunnie!” Yixing’s voice resonates loud in the fields.

“What?”

“This one’s stuck. Come and help me?”

Baekhyun finds a pouting Yixing staring back at him, mischief still dancing in his irises. “Not a chance.”

Yixing’s pout changes into a shocked expression, and Baekhyun isn’t sure what is for show and what isn’t, but the face Yixing is making is so adorable he doesn’t really question it any further. “Why not?” asks Yixing.

“You spent the entire morning laughing at me. _Humouring_ me.”

“I wasn’t!”

“Yes you were!”

“No I was not!” Yixing says, his voice high with laughter. He stomps a foot on the ground that leaves splashes of mud going around, and Baekhyun can’t hold his laughter anymore.

He can hardly think nor breathe with how hard he’s laughing, but he still catches Yixing’s loud laughter that joins him not too long after. Suddenly, Baekhyun can’t hear the clouds, the plants—only Yixing’s voice, sounding loud in the fields and in his head.

“All right, all right,” Baekhyun wheezes out, not before tears start to cloud his vision. They have work to get done, though, so he wills himself to calm down. “Let me give you a hand.”

He takes a look around them. Most of the field has been cleared of weeds; Baekhyun’s just finished his portion, and Yixing is only struggling with the last few plants of his own.

Baekhyun tilts his head at the plant in front of him when he reaches Yixing’s side. “You’ve got to be kidding me, Yixing.”

Next to him, Yixing is giggling with his hand over his mouth, shoulders shaking and eyes crinkled.

“There’s nothing there!” Baekhyun yells, although he can’t help smiling. He’s always smiling with Yixing. “Yixing, there’s nothing—”

“There is! Look harder!” Yixing insists, but the words barely make it out of his mouth. Baekhyun feels his insides turn upside down and butterflies erupting in his stomach.

He should probably question it. He doesn’t.

“You’re insufferable,” Baekhyun sighs. “You’ve cleared this entire area already. We’re done, and you’re keeping us here. There is nothing there, Yixing!”

“Baekhyunnie,” Yixing whines, not unlike a child. “Here, I’ll show you.”

Yixing crouches down, turns on his heels, and presents himself with his palms up under his chin, a blinding smile adorning his face and dimples showing. “ _Jjajan!_ ”

Incredulous, Baekhyun gapes at him, and his cheeks hurt from smiling. “You—Tell me, Yixing, how _old_ are you really?”

On the ground, Yixing is laughing too hard to be able to answer him, eyes teary and voice echoing loud around them.

Baekhyun just stands there, just looking at him, just taking him in. He tries his hardest to commit every detail of this to memory—the curve of Yixing’s smile, the melody of his laughter, the way the pale light above them smooths out his usually sharp edges and gives him a more youthful, cheerful figure. He takes notice of how the mud smearing his arms and legs and even some small patches of skin on his face doesn’t deter his beauty at all, on the contrary—it only shows that Yixing shines from within, from the inside out, a dazzling light in the clouded summer day around them that could light up empires and kingdoms of distant times.

He doesn’t want that light to whither, to fade. Not now, not ever.

They’re done working, though, and they should head back.

When Yixing seems to have calmed down, Baekhyun extends a hand towards him. “Come on, now, big boy. We should go get washed up, or halmeoni will worry.”

The look Yixing gives him is verging on arrogant, but in a way that isn’t unpleasant. A smirk is playing on his lips, and something sparks fire in Baekhyun’s heart. “Sure. Let’s go.”

Yixing takes his hand, but the force he puts in when he pulls has Baekhyun stumbling over him rather than Baekhyun lifting him up.

It all happens far too quickly, Baekhyun finding himself losing his balance and crashing into Yixing in the mud, water and dirt staining his upper arms and shoulders. Baekhyun lets out a yelp of surprise he regrets as soon as it comes out, closing his eyes.

He opens them again when the world stops moving, and his heartbeat picks up instantly. His head is leveled with Yixing’s chest, who’s laying with his back to the mud, legs stuck under Baekhyun. A knee is digging into Baekhyun’s thigh, and Baekhyun’s hands are trapped between their chests. Yixing has his hands around Baekhyun’s biceps, keeping him from rolling over to the mud next to him.

Yixing should let go. Yixing should let Baekhyun roll over to his side, so that they won’t be touching _everywhere_ like they are right now and so that they can get past this. Whatever this is.

However, Yixing’s grip on his arms is firm, although there’s still tenderness in his touch. It keeps their chests pressed against one another, and Baekhyun can _feel_ his thoughts racing in his head, spinning his mind around and upside down and it all goes by so quickly he gives up trying to make sense of them as soon as he tries.

He’ll have to trust himself on this.

However, the only thing Baekhyun’s hazed mind comes up with is a soft, “Hi,” breathed out in the too small space separating them.

It’s when Yixing smiles that Baekhyun suddenly realizes just how close they are, because from here, he can count the small, thin eyelashes that cover each of Yixing’s eyelids and leave delicate shadows on his cheekbones, and he can detail the curve of Yixing’s plump lips closely, precisely.

Anticipation thrums in all of Baekhyun’s limbs, and he doesn’t know what for. Or rather, he knows—but what is the possibility?

Yixing searches for his eyes as he answers. “Hi, there.”

A soundless laughter, soft and warm, bubbles out of Baekhyun. He’s never felt like this before—so happy and giddy and strangely loving the fear taking roots in his stomach. “Are you gonna let go?”

Yixing looks at him with curious eyes. “Do you want me to?”

Reflex almost has Baekhyun say “yes,” especially as thoughts of his awaiting grandmother pop in his mind, but they’re quickly replaced by what’s right there in front of him to see, to breathe in, to take. It’s intoxicating. It’s overwhelming.

It has Baekhyun timidly shake his head. He must look like a kid, eyes wide with wonder and lips parted, but Yixing only dimples at him further, and Baekhyun finds comfort in that smile.

“Then I won’t,” Yixing says. His voice has dropped to a whisper now, a soft murmur that only Baekhyun can hear.

It makes Baekhyun feel special and incredible and like he’s king of the world, and Yixing is… more than that, even.

A strong yearning grows in Baekhyun, but he doesn’t act on it just yet. Also, he doesn’t let any other thoughts—rational, bad thoughts—instill worry in his mind, either.

It’s like he’s floating, captured by Yixing under him, facing him, all around him. Baekhyun can feel and breathe and see Yixing everywhere.

With slow movements, Yixing extracts his legs from under Baekhyun, sliding them around him, encompassing him between them. Baekhyun is now on his knees, although his hands are still pressed on Yixing’s chest, and he can feel Yixing move under him.

Baekhyun can’t breathe, can’t think. He only watches.

Delicate hands slide down his arms, and one of them slides back up to his shoulder while the other pushes Yixing slightly upright. Baekhyun’s hands fall from Yixing’s chest, both of them at each side of his upper waist, holding ground in the mud.

Baekhyun knows what they probably look like. He should be worried, but right now—right at this instant, he wants things to go further, wants something to happen, wants all his _want_ to be fulfilled.

There is a question in Yixing’s eyes, mixed with fear, but also the same anticipation Baekhyun can still sense simmering under his skin. Rather than answering it aloud, Baekhyun fixes Yixing with his most earnest gaze, hoping to communicate that he’s there, welcoming, ready.

They have a silent conversation with their eyes.

Yixing reaches up with the hand on Baekhyun’s shoulder to his nape, smearing water and dirt on Baekhyun’s skin. Baekhyun shivers. _Is this okay?_

 _Yeah_. Baekhyun nods, barely moving his head. _Go on_.

It’s as though Yixing is bracing himself for what’s to come, and Baekhyun can’t say he isn’t either. _Okay_.

The moment their lips press against each other is the moment Baekhyun knows.

There is nothing he has wanted more, ever—nothing he has craved for, _yearned_ for more than Yixing’s kiss, at this very second.

Yixing’s mouth is soft against his, only pressing for a moment, before Yixing starts to move, breath shaky but confidence in his touch. His lips drag against Baekhyun’s, leaving kisses on each of them, before Yixing sucks on Baekhyun’s bottom lip only ever so slightly.

The want grows, and Baekhyun melts into it. He melts into Yixing’s touch, and kisses him back with a fervor that takes them both by surprise.

Yixing lets out a small noise before retaliating Baekhyun’s kisses, the hand he has on his neck guiding him, pressing in a request. Baekhyun opens up to him, feeling Yixing’s tongue sliding in and he can’t help the soft whimper that escapes his throat.

Their kiss is languid and slow, Baekhyun slowly losing himself to it. There is nothing in his mind other than Yixing’s fingers on his neck, Yixing’s mouth on his own, the sweet taste on his tongue. The more he presses against Yixing, the more Baekhyun wants, and the more Yixing gives him.

There should be alarms going off in Baekhyun’s mind, at the moment. He thinks he hears their faint echo from somewhere, at the back of his clouded thoughts, but how could he pay attention, with how pliant Yixing is under him, or the whines he keeps on slipping out? It pulls out a muted moan from him, and Yixing’s hand squeezes at his nape.

Yixing pulls out with a long inhale. “Baekhyun,” he starts, but before he can continue, Baekhyun is chasing after his lips, and they’re kissing again.

One of Baekhyun’s hands finds its way back on Yixing’s chest, smearing water and soil dirt over Yixing’s shirt, seeping through the fabric. Still, Baekhyun roams Yixing’s body with a distracted hand, and the little exhales and noises it pulls out of the man makes Baekhyun smile into the kiss.

Soon, there’s a deeper longing that lodges itself under his navel, lust guiding him over reason, and that’s when Baekhyun knows he should stop. He pushes at Yixing’s chest, their lips detaching soundly, but Yixing’s are suddenly sucking at his throat, and Baekhyun moans at that.

He can’t stop. They can’t stop.

“Yixing, please,” he says, but he doesn’t know what he’s pleading for.

Yixing shuts him up with the scrape of his teeth against the sensitive skin where Baekhyun’s Adam apple should be. Baekhyun bites his lip, keeping another noise from coming out.

He can’t stop, but they really should.

That’s when Yixing decides to slide a leg between Baekhyun, and even the faint press of Yixing’s thigh against his groin has Baekhyun letting out a high whimper at the back of his throat. The touch sends spark flying all over his body, delicious warmth growing rapidly and Baekhyun wants more, more, more.

He has to stop. They have to.

It takes an incredible amount of self-control for Baekhyun to push away, with enough force to send Yixing directly in the mud, who keeps himself from falling into completely with an elbow keeping him above the water.

Baekhyun is back again with his hands on each side of Yixing’s chest. They’re still close—too close; Baekhyun can see just how red Yixing’s lips have gotten from the kiss, and how they became even fuller at their touch. He feels the warm emanating from both their bodies, sees the desire in Yixing’s eyes, the way his cheeks and throat are more pink than the rest of his skin.

Their chests are heaving, and none of them dares to say anything, just yet. Baekhyun lets himself catch his breath. His thoughts can wait.

Under him, Yixing seems to be going through the same thing, his eyes suddenly looking down, frantically sliding towards every direction.

He’s the one who speaks first. “Oh.”

The word makes air puff at Baekhyun’s skin, who realizes he’s still too close.

He rolls over, lying down in the mud, hair be damned, right next to Yixing. The sky above them is darker, grayer; the shape of the clouds is more defined, meaning it’ll rain soon. “Oh?”

Yixing sits up next to him, refusing to meet his gaze. “It wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“Wh—what?” Baekhyun sputters. “Yixing, what are you saying—”

“I don’t know,” whispers Yixing. Shaking hands run over his jet black hair, leaving traces of mud in their trail. “I don’t know.” They’ll each need a long, scorching hot bath after that.

Not together.

“I’m sorry,” Yixing offers again, and that has Baekhyun’s attention suddenly sharpening.

“No,” he says firmly. “None of this. Don’t be sorry—I know you weren’t. I know you are not.” Courage pushes him to add, “You wanted this. We both wanted this.”

Yixing almost snaps his neck with how fast he turns around. His gaze is unguarded, fear leaking out but mixed with a hope Baekhyun recognizes himself in. “Baekhyun,” Yixing starts.

Baekhyun sits up, shakes his head vehemently. “No,” he says again. “I can’t think. I…” He sighs. “Let’s get cleaned up. Yeah?”

Yixing closes his eyes for a beat, and nods. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

They walk soundlessly towards the house. As soon as they step inside, rain pours from the sky. Baekhyun doesn’t know what it means.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And... that's it for the first part! Let me know what you think! If you're curious about anything, let me know as well. Updates coming soon :)


	3. part ii: faith

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: homophobia, internalized homophobia, usage of slurs.
> 
> Song for this chapter: "[Home](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WZnHKClG6S0)" by Nell.

***

_Quels coeurs briserai-je? Quel mensonge dois-je tenir?_

***

Things start to change.

Of course, Baekhyun knew, as soon as his lips had met Yixing’s, that things wouldn’t and couldn’t remain the same between them.

He knew that, but he didn’t know he would be the main cause of it.

That same day, as they stood next to each other in the kitchen, washing away as much mud as they could before they could each hop in a bath to clean themselves properly, Baekhyun felt the intensity of Yixing’s gaze on him, and didn’t act on it. Not then.

But he did moments later, though, as he cornered Yixing against the wall in the hall and left another kiss on his lips, barely there, only a brush of skin. He felt Yixing exhale against his mouth, and Baekhyun felt tears sting at his eyes.

His grandmother was obviously nowhere in sight. It was a relief, somehow; not only wouldn’t Baekhyun be able to tell her anything, but having to deal with Yixing’s presence with another pair of eyes on them was a challenge Baekhyun wasn’t ready to face just yet.

After that second kiss, Yixing had left, excusing himself politely and saying he would clean up at the guesthouse and wouldn’t want to keep Baekhyun waiting after him. Baekhyun saw right through it—it was an offer for a truce, and Baekhyun took it. He let Yixing leave, watching as he shot him one last dimpled smile over his shoulder, although there was a sad, resigned twist to it.

Fear caught up to Baekhyun quickly. It started with constant reminiscing, the entire evening following Yixing’s departure, of every moment that had made up their kiss, every touch and every noise, and slowly, every thought he had chosen to discard and bury deep in his mind. They kept coming back in strong waves, uncertainty and disarray now making themselves home in Baekhyun’s head.

He kissed a man. He kissed Yixing.

And not just that—Baekhyun had _enjoyed_ it.

It only served to prove that all those moments before, when the mere presence of Yixing managed to lift Baekhyun’s mood tremendously, were obviously and undoubtedly a consequence of something else, something Baekhyun had tried so hard to hide and ignore but now couldn’t anymore.

Baekhyun still felt the tinge of excitement and the heat of his skin all over him, an unholy relic of that kiss.

Something about it felt utterly wrong. It made Baekhyun want to throw up, dig up whatever is inside his body that craves and yearns for Yixing so much and get rid of it as promptly as possible. It didn’t feel right. It felt… Baekhyun didn’t know exactly, but he didn’t want it. Whatever “it” was.

However, the more Baekhyun mulled over his thoughts, replaying that godforsaken kiss in his head, the more conflicted it all got; disgust and fear started mixing up with an urging desire for more, or maybe simple reassurance that none of what Baekhyun was going through was wrong, or abnormal.

He knew he could find that reassurance in Yixing, and Yixing only, and it made things ironically harder.

The next day, Baekhyun had gone straight to the bookstore for his shift, without stopping by the guesthouse like he usually did. Yixing didn’t show up. Baekhyun took it as understanding, and was thankful for it.

If Jongdae had given him a funny look when he came by that afternoon, he didn’t say anything about it, and Baekhyun was thankful for it too.

Baekhyun knew he couldn’t keep on avoiding Yixing forever—he might try, but the young man had already taken up such a big place in Baekhyun’s life, he wasn’t sure how he could go on without his presence at his side. It was a thought for future days, though, days during which the confusion wouldn’t be as… confusing.

It’s been two days now since that kiss, and Baekhyun wonders when that time will come, sitting on the floor in the aisles of the bookstore, alone.

Baekhyun would rather die than admit he misses Yixing; however, not uttering it out loud doesn’t change the fact that Baekhyun still longs for him, be it only his smile and presence and curious remarks. They’re all absent, though, and so is Yixing.

And it’s not like Yixing is there to stay, anyway. In fact, now that Baekhyun is spending some time away from the Chinese man, he’s starting to realize he knows very little about him—only parcels of him, spread out like a complex puzzle that Baekhyun only has scarce pieces of. There is still so much about Yixing he doesn’t know, is still so curious about.

First, and foremost, the reason of his presence here, in Baekhyun’s village. What brought him here, why he hasn’t left yet.

Second, why he seemingly made it a mission to set himself in Baekhyun’s life, like he’s always belonged there.

Part of Baekhyun dies to know while the other still considers ignorance to be blissful. It only adds to the confusion Baekhyun is already feeling.

He exhales a long sigh. Some of the dust on the shelves startles, particles flowing in the air and dancing their way back down. Baekhyun watches them without really looking; behind his empty stare is nothing, or too much at once.

He runs a hand over his face. “Get a grip,” he mumbles to himself.

***

The next morning, surprisingly, Minseok comes to him. Baekhyun hasn’t been graced with Minseok’s presence in his grandmother’s house in weeks. It’s not in his habits to drop by, with how busy he gets with the guesthouse all year round. Baekhyun is much more used to Jongdae’s cheerful morning appearances than Minseok’s.

The thing is, Minseok isn’t like Jongdae—he isn’t one to skirt around issues and be careful; Minseok will get straight to the point whenever there is something that needs to be addressed.

Not that there is, really.

But Minseok thinks otherwise, apparently.

“Baekhyun, yah, wake up,” he says as soon as he opens the door to Baekhyun’s room. He doesn’t waste time, and plumps down next to Baekhyun, shaking him awake. “Get up. Come on.”

“Hyung,” Baekhyun replies with a sleepy voice. “Hyung, I… what are you doing, hyung—”

“Waking you up,” Minseok says. “I haven’t seen you in days and Jongdae said something about you moping around and looking not so good. I came to see if he was right.”

Baekhyun blinks awake, Minseok’s face looking at him with a hard, piercing gaze that clashes with his small, curious smile. “Hm. So, is he?”

“Is who what?”

“Jongdae. Is he right?”

Minseok tilts his head. “Yes. You look like shit.”

Baekhyun rolls his eyes, closing them momentarily to gain a few more seconds of sleep. Wishful thinking. “I’m fine.”

“See, this is how I know for sure you’re not,” Minseok tuts, “because if you _were_ fine, you wouldn’t miss a chance to complain.”

Baekhyun groans, and does it again when Minseok ruffles his hair. “Tell me I’m not that annoying, hyung.”

The snort Minseok gives him has Baekhyun pout despite his sleepy state. “You wish. Now come on. You’re coming with me today. Spend time with your hyung, will you?”

Baekhyun tries not to show how much he doesn’t want to, simply because spending time with Minseok certainly means spending time with Yixing. There’s a reason why he’s been avoiding the guesthouse, after all. “Why this, suddenly?”

“Because, as I said, you look like shit.” Minseok pauses, then after a moment, adds, “And so does Yixing. I don’t know what trouble you guys got yourselves into, but you should sort it out.”

Baekhyun freezes. “There’s nothing.” Nothing but the mess of Baekhyun’s thoughts and the headache hammering his skull.

“Nothing, my ass,” Minseok mumbles.

He gets up, and Baekhyun starts to scramble out of his covers rapidly when he sees him heading to the bucket of water at the corner of the room. Minseok would be game. “Just, whatever it is, fix it, yeah?” Minseok turns to look at Baekhyun, and again, Baekhyun is intrigued by the weird, analyzing look Minseok gives him. He doesn’t like it. “Yixing’s been acting weird, lately. He gets, like, extra nice and extra polite, when he’s upset, apparently.” Minseok grimaces, and Baekhyun almost forgets the hardness of his gaze that was there seconds ago. “He’s helpful, but I feel like I’m using him, or something.”

Baekhyun waves a hand around, coming to squat next to Minseok by the water cauldron and splash some on his face. He feels a little alive. “I’ll talk to him, or something.”

“Promise?”

“I promise, hyung.”

“Good kid. I still want you to spend the day with me, though. You know you’ve always been my favourite, right?”

It’s Baekhyun’s turn to snort. “And I also know that’s a lie, hyung.” The humour tastes funny on Baekhyun’s tongue. He doesn’t wonder.

***

As it turns out, Baekhyun doesn’t talk to Yixing. Not like he’d like to, anyway.

Aside from exchanged hellos and small talk when Minseok is seemingly watching them, they stay silent, although Baekhyun knows Yixing steals just as many looks in his direction as he does to him.

Minseok only has to move some furniture around, having to sell some pieces in a few rooms to be able to compensate for the lack of newcomers, these days. They both help out with smiles plastered on their faces that seem fake even to Baekhyun.

Baekhyun doesn’t miss the funny way Minseok acts around Yixing, despite not being able to pinpoint exactly why, or even how he’s acting. There’s just something, though, something weighing down the atmosphere, and Baekhyun can’t tell if he’s the only one sensing it or if either Yixing or Minseok can feel it too, making the air taste of metal and feel toxic.

It’s even odder, when Baekhyun knows that Minseok isn’t one to stay put when he’s upset. There’s obviously something bothering him, but what bothers Baekhyun most is his insistent silence.

Baekhyun is about to go crazy with it, with everything.

It reaches a peak when Yixing intercepts him in the hall, Minseok busy getting tools a few houses down the road. Baekhyun watches as Yixing catches his hand in his, circling his fingers with his entire hand, his palm warm against Baekhyun’s. Baekhyun hates the way his breath falters and picks up, the way heat reaches his cheeks so quickly, the way he wants to grab onto Yixing’s hand and pull him in, taste his lips again.

It’s killing him how much he wants, but it kills him more to resist, as he looks up to Yixing, immobile.

Yixing is only softness, though—nothing hard or pressing in his gaze, although there might be a plea in those dark, bright eyes. A plea asking Baekhyun to let him in, maybe. He looks just as breathless as Baekhyun, albeit more contained, more in control. Baekhyun wishes he were like him; in control.

Baekhyun doesn’t answer Yixing’s plea. They stay silent, holding the other’s hand, staring into each other’s eyes. Then, Baekhyun squeezes Yixing’s hand, laces their fingers and holds on just a moment—just long enough to close his eyes, keeping tears from falling out, and taking one sharp breath—before he lets go.

They don’t speak, nor touch, for the rest of the day.

***

The ivory of the piano feels cold under Baekhyun’s fingertips. There’s also some dust covering the keys, and when Baekhyun pulls away his hand, he finds it stuck at the end of his fingers.

He hasn’t played in so long. It’s always like this—weeks, months even, pass by as he gets caught up in something new that steals away his time and attention. It’s in between those periods of time that he finds himself sitting at the bench in Mr. Lee’s backroom, staring at the while keys before him and wondering.

The bookstore is empty, it’s nearing evening, and Baekhyun has time.

It’s in those intermissions of his life that Baekhyun feels the most alive, usually.

Usually.

Usually, the simple touch of the piano is enough to revive him. He gets engrossed in it, letting it spark unrelenting flames inside his heart as he starts playing, usually simple pieces that remind him of lonely evenings in Seoul and the smell of smoke, thick in the air, as the music around him unfolds.

Music is his escape, after all.

Today is different, though. Baekhyun carries with him an emptiness that he is still foreign with; he doesn’t like the way it sits in his stomach nor does he like the way it seems to squeeze his heart uncomfortably.

When he starts playing, shy hands pressing gentle keys, a simple melody coming to life, that emptiness can be heard in Baekhyun’s music.

He hates it.

He hates it, but he keeps going, because there is still the hope that it fills up the hole in him left behind by countless worries and fears and thoughts and memories and heavy silences. He hopes the clumsy melody that takes form at the tip of his fingertips contains the screams and cries and simple questions he holds inside that constantly threaten to come out and explode.

Most of all, Baekhyun clings to the hope that maybe music is still his escape, still his way to forget about a world outside that is too harsh for anyone with a soul, and that this escape hasn’t turned into a man with bright eyes and a nameless past.

The melody varies too harshly in intensity and speed, and it’s the most irregular thing Baekhyun has ever played. It’s a song that doesn’t make sense, just like his thoughts, and he isn’t sure what keeps him playing and pressing the keys furiously, but he does anyway. The urgency in his movements even manages to surprise him, but doesn’t make him stop, just yet.

Baekhyun doesn’t know how much time passes. He doesn’t even know how the melody sounds anymore.

His hands are exhausted and it’s all too odd, too unfamiliar and frustrating and so like everything else in his head right now and Baekhyun is tired.

When nothing changes, when Baekhyun doesn’t feel any different nor relieved, he stops, letting his arms fall at his side and exhaling with a shudder.

He’s trembling all over, but he calms himself with long, deep breaths. He feels inexplicably weak and worn out, and his thoughts are still racing in his head.

“I’ve never seen you like this.”

Baekhyun jumps. The voice is soft, murmured, and it stabs at his guts violently. When he turns towards the door leading back to the shop, Baekhyun finds him there, leaning on the doorframe, with crossed arms and a piercing but concerned eye.

“I’ve never seen you this sad,” Yixing continues.

There’s bile in Baekhyun’s throat, and he swallows. “You haven’t been around long enough to see—” He stops, weights his words carefully. “Forget it.”

Baekhyun is reminded of a similar instance, of Yixing’s sad eyes scanning the instrument before them with wonder as he had watched him from the doorframe. Now, their roles are reversed, and Baekhyun would laugh at the irony if it wasn’t so bitter.

“Your music,” Yixing talks again. “The way you played it. I’ve never seen anything like it, either.” A pause, and then, “It was lovely, Baekhyun. Very sad, but very lovely.”

Baekhyun only nods at him. Silence stretches between them, and for the first time, it’s awkward and itches at Baekhyun’s skin uncomfortably.

“Talk to me,” Yixing asks suddenly. Baekhyun turns back to the piano, offering his back to Yixing.

“We’re talking now, aren’t we—”

“Baekhyun,” Yixing pleads from behind him. “Talk to me.”

It’s not like Baekhyun has the strength to put up a fight. When he doesn’t say anything, Yixing moves to sit next to him on the bench. At least, Baekhyun thinks, he has the decency not to touch him. Baekhyun doesn’t know what he would do if he did.

“I don’t know what to tell you.” It’s a truth that Baekhyun has tried to comprehend for the past few days, but failed at miserably.

“You don’t have to _tell_ me anything,” Yixing replies, “I just… I’m just worried. How are you?”

Baekhyun still hasn’t looked at Yixing. He’s fixing the ivory keys in front of him, itching to touch them, to play again, despite not exactly feeling like it either. “I don’t know,” Baekhyun says with a shrug. “I don’t… I don’t understand anything.”

Yixing’s presence so close is unnerving, especially since Yixing happens to be one of those people who have a certain something to them, something that clings in the air whenever they are around that Baekhyun has slowly learned to love. He despises it now, despises how much he still longs for it.

“Baekhyun, have you ever kissed a man, before?”

The question catches him off guard and Baekhyun finds himself staring at Yixing before he even realizes it. Yixing is staring back at him with an inquiring look, more open than Baekhyun has ever seen him. “No,” Baekhyun breathes. “No, never.”

Yixing nods slowly. “All right. And how do you feel?”

The patience Yixing shows is as reassuring as it is annoying. Baekhyun wants to yell at him that he feels wrong, wronged, all over, and that everything in him screams to rid himself of whatever had pushed him, that day, to let Yixing’s lips press against his own, to retaliate his kiss, to get lost in it. He wants to scream about how there is no patient words in the world that could ever do that, though. He wants to cry on Yixing’s shoulder and confess just how much he still misses his touch, his smile, even after only a few days apart.

Those days felt like months, and Baekhyun cannot bear to let one more pass.

“I’m scared,” Baekhyun lets out. It’s the most honest he’s been with himself; admitting the fear eating him from the inside, out loud. “I’m so fucking scared. I don’t know… what to think. I can’t think at all.”

“Baekhyun,” Yixing says. Baekhyun almost begs him to stop saying his name like this, like he matters; it’s aggravating. “Can you trust me? Do you trust me?”

“What?” Everything is confusing, so confusing. Yixing isn’t making any sense either; Baekhyun wants to tell him that, but he’s too curious, craving for answers, so he waits.

Can he trust Yixing? Baekhyun probably shouldn’t; in many ways, he’s still a stranger.

Does Baekhyun trust Yixing? Absolutely. Terrifyingly so.

“If I tell you this is okay,” Yixing says. He places a hand over Baekhyun’s own, the tip of his fingers touching Baekhyun’s thigh. Baekhyun gasps. “If I tell you, you’re okay. We’re okay.” When Baekhyun looks up to Yixing, he’s licking his lips uncertainly, like he’s afraid Baekhyun is going to push him away. “Will you trust me, if I tell you that? Will you believe me? Can you believe me, please?”

Affirmation is already burning at the tip of Baekhyun’s tongue and his heart is threatening to escape through his throat. “What are you saying?”

Yixing closes his eyes, and moves to pull his hand away, but Baekhyun holds on. He needs something to hold onto.

Eyes closed, Yixing speaks. “I’m saying, what happened… We can discuss it, later. We can vow not to ever repeat it, ever again. We can do whatever you please, Baekhyun, but I just want you to know there’s nothing wrong with you, yeah? No matter how it feels.” A pause. “There’s nothing wrong with us.”

Yixing is wrong, but Baekhyun oh so wants to believe him.

Baekhyun also wants to kiss Yixing again.

“Are you sure?” Baekhyun asks.

His thoughts are confusing, the piano next to them long forgotten, as if their conversation had erased everything around them.

“We’re okay,” Yixing says. “I promise. Yes?”

Yixing opens his eyes, hopeful and pressing and desperate. Baekhyun can’t refuse him. “Yes.”

That night, they head together to Jongdae’s tavern, who welcomes them with raised eyebrows. He seems pleased, however, and relieved somehow, and Baekhyun swallows down the knot in his throat with alcohol. The ghost of Yixing’s touch still lingers all around his hand, but it’s reassuring, comforting, despite the fear and the remaining confusion.

Baekhyun knows, they’ll figure it out. In due time.

***

The following week or so goes by rather slowly, Baekhyun finds.

It’s as though days and hours stretch out to last longer than they should, and slumber seems cut short and doesn’t bring the rest Baekhyun craves.

Still, things are better than they were before. For starters, he doesn’t avoid Yixing like the plague, or not as much anyway.

Baekhyun still puts a certain distance between them, moving away from Yixing’s embrace whenever it feels too close or too intimate. Especially, when it feels too good, like Baekhyun could melt in it and discard away all his worries. As hard as it is, it’s the only thing he can do; it’s the only thing that is starting to make sense to him again.

But they meet again and speak again and Baekhyun would lie if he said he didn’t enjoy it if only a little. Yixing visits him at the bookstore again, after his impromptu visit the other day and their conversation neither of them mentions. Baekhyun warms up to him again, and it’s not exactly like it used to be, but it’s close enough, and Baekhyun is thankful. He’s thankful to be able to be at the receiving end of those dimpled smiles and surprising snarky remarks, even if they’re not as common as they used to be. Slowly, but surely, Baekhyun and Yixing get to know each other, all over again.

They still meet with Jongdae and Minseok, at the tavern, at the guesthouse, and in the fields. Life slowly falls back into place, even if Baekhyun slightly feels out of it.

He knows Yixing feels similar; it shows in the way the light in his eyes is dimmer and the way his movements sometimes falter, as his instincts push him to reach for Baekhyun. It hurts to watch, but then again, what is Baekhyun supposed to do?

Memories are hard to forget, and the ghost of Yixing’s lips is one that keeps on haunting him.

 

 

***

 

 

***

_À quatre heures du matin, l’été, le sommeil d’amour dure encore._

***

It’s nearing July when, one day, Baekhyun wakes up to fingers scratching his neck.

The touch is comforting and Baekhyun leans into it unconsciously, letting the fingers press against his skin and a warm palm hover over the side of his neck, above his shoulder. From somewhere in the back of his mind, he hears himself whimper softly, the sound stuck at the back of his throat.

Jongdae had told him countless times before about those little noises he apparently makes when he sleeps, something between whines and sniffles that Baekhyun isn’t even aware he makes, most of the time. He’s never really thought of it.

However, the thought of Jongdae is suddenly pressing, because Jongdae usually doesn’t wake up Baekhyun with neck scratches. In fact, Baekhyun would probably recoil at the touch, except this time, it’s so soft and feels so good on his skin it’s probably why he hasn’t moved away already.

But the point remains, Jongdae wouldn’t do this. And neither would Minseok—definitely not Minseok. Which only leaves his grandmother, who’s given up on waking him up a long, long time ago, or…

_Yixing._

Baekhyun jolts awake right away at the sudden thought, blinking his eyes open frantically before they focus blearily. Yixing is looking at him with a startled expression, his left hand still suspended in the air near where Baekhyun’s neck must’ve been, seconds before.

With eyes moving between Yixing’s fingers—so soft, not exactly delicate but not rough either, not that Baekhyun noticed, but—and his friend, sitting not exactly at his feet but a little closer, Baekhyun swallows. His back is against the wall, and he feels cornered.

He also feels warm all over, and wants to slide back under the covers and curls his toes at Yixing’s touch.

“Hi,” Yixing lets out before Baekhyun is even ready to hear his voice. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” He still looks a little stunned, but a smile is painted across his face, shy and dimpled and welcoming.

A breath Baekhyun didn’t know he was holding escapes from his parted lips. He chuckles the nervousness out of his system and runs both his hands through his messy black hair. “No, no, it’s okay, I just…” Another breath. “I’m not used to, you know. You being here. This early, anyway.”

Yixing licks his lips carefully, slowly, and Baekhyun doesn’t stare. “Sorry, if you’d rather I stay outside—I mean, halmeoni said I could come in, and—”

 _Halmeoni_. It’s odd, hearing it come out of Yixing’s mouth, but it feels right.

“It’s fine,” Baekhyun hastens to add. “It’s okay, don’t worry. I probably needed to wake up, by now.” He musters a quick smile, and when Yixing reciprocates, it feels genuine. “It’s fine, Yixing.”

A slow nod, and then Yixing says, “Okay,” and settles back on the blankets even though he wasn’t standing. He’s less rigid now, Baekhyun notices, slouching back on himself and being seemingly more relaxed.

That’s good.

Baekhyun clears his throat, and gets up to wash his face. He could probably use a bath; he’ll ask his grandmother to boil water this evening for it. “So what brings you here, early bird?”

He hears Yixing laugh behind him, and Baekhyun can’t help but smile at the sound. “It’s ten in the morning, Baekhyun.”

“Still early,” Baekhyun says. Once his face and arms are clean, he puts on his shirt, not caring to button it just yet. He feels hot under Yixing’s gaze, but it is true that it’s still early, on Baekhyun’s terms, and so he doesn’t care as much at the moment. “Plus, I’m off work today. I have every excuse to sleep in.”

“About that,” Yixing starts. Baekhyun looks up to him with raised eyebrows. Yixing is still sitting on his bed, having brought his legs on the scattered blankets and sitting cross-legged with his hands antsy in his lap. With a shrug, he continues. “Remember, that tour of the village you promised me? I mean, I’m pretty familiar with this place, by now, but I thought we could do that still.” He licks his lips, tugs at his earlobe. “Just the two of us.”

Baekhyun’s stunned. It takes him a moment to repeat, “Just the two of us?”

It shows that Yixing suddenly thinks of his words as a bad idea. “Well, if you don’t want to—I mean, that’s fine, I don’t really need a tour anyway, like, as I said, I know this place well enough now but—”

“No, that’s not it,” Baekhyun says. “I don’t mind, it’s just…”

_It’s just that I sort of don’t know how to act around you anymore. It’s just that I can see you sometimes, act like it is just like it used to be, but I’m not sure if I can do this, just the two of us. I don’t know what will happen then, I don’t know what will happen of me, of us._

Baekhyun breathes. “Nothing. I’ll take you.”

Yixing uncrosses his legs, stands up straight, and Baekhyun wants to smile, but doesn’t. “Really? If you want, we could still stay here, or go see Minseok or Jongdae—”

“Yixing,” Baekhyun says again. “I want to show you around.” The way Yixing tilts his head shows that he knows there’s something, a condition or a restraint, and Baekhyun sighs. “Really, though. There’s many places I want to show you.”

Yixing relaxes, and Baekhyun smiles at him. “Really?”

“Really really. Best guide, remember?”

The smile on Yixing’s face lets his teeth show. “I do.”

They start walking to the door at the same time, and when Yixing reaches it first, he holds it open for Baekhyun.

“Let’s go,” Yixing says.

Baekhyun takes a deep breath; he doesn’t know why it feels like he’s diving into a sea with no end, but he takes the plunge anyway. “Yeah, let’s go.”

His grandmother lets them drag their breakfast around town, eating as they start walking. It’s better this way—Baekhyun wouldn’t know how to act at the table, sitting between his friend and what’s left of his family, oddly cornered once again. He can deal with periods of Yixing—that is, short amounts of time of the two of them together, scattered and incrusted in Baekhyun’s routine and not disrupting anything, interspersed with Jongdae’s or Minseok’s company, often times the both of them. He cannot, however, deal with Yixing all alone, when he isn’t supposed to be there, and when there’s nothing to distract him from that fact.

So they start walking.

Their steps are slow, and Yixing often stops to make sure he takes his bite properly and doesn’t choke on his rice. Baekhyun indulges him, letting silence settle between them as they munch on their food and walk on the road from Baekhyun’s house to the core of the village.

When they’re done with their food, they still haven’t reached the end of the road. Baekhyun stuffs their small bowls in the messenger bag his grandmother packed with food—“Take him on a picnic, will you? This weather is lovely for it”—and watches Yixing look up at the sunny sky next to him.

There’s a distance between them, but for the first time in days, it isn’t awkward. Baekhyun still sort of wishes it not to be there, but it’s not something he’s willing to risk.

“I have a question,” Yixing asks. “Concerning the tour, sort of.”

“The tour hasn’t even started yet, Yixing.”

Yixing rolls his eyes. “Will you answer or not?”

“Depends.” Baekhyun kicks a small rock on the gravelly path. “Ask away.”

“Your house,” Yixing muses. “Why is it so far away from the rest of the village?”

“Ah,” Baekhyun lets out. “That’s because of the fields. See, most of the families here used to be farmers. Like, years ago. Then, with time, some of them decided to open up small shops instead, turning our village into some sort of town.” He keeps going, knowing he has Yixing’s attention despite his silence. “We used not to have a main street until, like, 30 years ago, I think? That’s what halmeoni says. But anyway, most of the farming houses are set aside from the village like this. To leave room for the fields, and let the plants grow properly. Whether it’s rice or cabbage or anything else.”

“Like Chanyeol’s farm?”

“Like Chanyeol’s farm,” Baekhyun acquiesces. “We’re more at the north side of the village. Chanyeol is located more towards the south.”

“And are there any other farms like yours, then?” asks Yixing.

Baekhyun smiles at Yixing’s questions. “There are,” Baekhyun replies. “Scattered around the village, connected to it with roads like this one. Some of them were abandoned, though; like I said, as families moved more towards the core of the village, they left their farms behind. Some even move to Seoul, or even as far as Daegu or Busan. The farming life is tough, especially since the World War.”

“You’re still going strong, though,” Yixing remarks.

“That’s because everyone eats rice,” Baekhyun jokes. “But seriously, it used to be more… I don’t know. Like even just the feeling of it, it used to be different, you know? Like, I still like working in the fields, I love it, but it’s not the same.”

“Yeah,” Yixing says. “Things get like that, sometimes.”

“They do.” Baekhyun doesn’t know if Yixing’s talking about something else, but doesn’t press. “We’re lucky, I guess. People would still rather buy rice from us around here rather than get it from Seoul.”

“That’s good,” Yixing provides.

When he stays silent, Baekhyun inquires, “Any other questions before we start?”

Yixing skips in his steps, then shakes his head, eyes crinkled and lips pressed into a tight but happy smile. “Nope, _seonsangnim_.”

Baekhyun rolls his eyes, pulling himself away from jostling Yixing’s shoulder with his own. “Stop it,” he mutters.

“Never. You love it.”

“You have to stop doing this. Honestly.”

“No. You know why?”

“Don’t say it—”

“You _love_ it.”

Yixing laughs, and Baekhyun follows him; even though there’s a slight weight behind the words. Baekhyun, for once, doesn’t feel uneasy at it. He still has a hard time acknowledging whatever is stirring his heart from all sides, but it sits easier in his stomach. He can endure it.

They finally reach the end of the road, and Baekhyun takes the turn opposite to the way leading to the guesthouse. That road is his usual route—it’s the same as the one leading to the bookstore, as the guesthouse is located at about the same distance from the shop as it is from the juncture between the main street and the road to the Byun farmhouse. The opposite way, the one they’re heading towards, is the way to the tavern; however, the establishment is very close to the intersection between the Byun road and the main street, and Yixing raises an inquiring eyebrow when they walk past it.

“Where are you taking me?”

“I thought you didn’t have any more questions?”

“I would imagine the tour has started now, though, right?” Yixing asks.

Baekhyun nods slowly, walking ahead of Yixing. “You’re right. I’m taking you somewhere.”

“That’s awfully descriptive, thanks.”

“It’s no fun if you know everything already, Yixing. Come on,” Baekhyun says with a quick look over his shoulder.

Yixing is looking at him with a fake disgruntled face, a smile fighting its way on his face. Baekhyun can feel the familiar warmth that usually spreads whenever he’s around Yixing, a warmth he’s tried to suppress as much as possible, lately.

He remains committed to it, to keeping his feelings or whatever it is at bay whenever Yixing is near, but if he revels in that warmth, even for a second, no one will know.

“Fine,” Yixing says from behind him. “I’ll let you walk me blindly through this village I seemingly don’t know as well as I thought.”

“That’s the spirit,” Baekhyun smiles. “I won’t abduct you, or anything.”

“Haven’t you already?”

No. Yixing doesn’t get to say that.

Baekhyun stops to wait for him to catch up. When Yixing is next to him, slowing down his steps, Baekhyun stares at him, his own eyes digging into the dark, slanted ones facing him. They’re curious, slightly daring, and Baekhyun sort of wants to get lost in them, but he knows that’s what Yixing is aiming at, and he refuses.

He hates how their conversations lately seem to go from senseless and trivial to charged and heavy in a matter of seconds.

“No,” Baekhyun says with a soft voice. It holds more than it lets out, but he knows Yixing can hear all of it. “You’re here because you chose to stay, right?” _Even though I have no idea why_.

Baekhyun can’t tell if Yixing suddenly puts up walls around himself at his words, or if he lets his guard down. Something flickers in his gaze, and it goes by too quick for Baekhyun to tell. “Yes, you’re right,” Yixing replies with a firm tone. “I’m here because I want to stay. Something’s keeping me here, anyway.”

It takes a lot for Baekhyun not to roll his eyes. Not that he thinks Yixing might refer to him, but it sounds a whole lot like it, and he doesn’t… he doesn’t want it. He doesn’t want to want it.

So instead, Baekhyun only grins, and he knows his eyes aren’t smiling along. “Then you have nothing to worry about,” Baekhyun says. “Let’s keep going, shall we?”

Yixing looks on the verge to say something, but Baekhyun is already walking, leaving a stunned Yixing behind him.

He hears Yixing scrambling to follow his step, before he’s next to him again. The air is filled with a silence screaming of words unsaid all around them, but Baekhyun doesn’t break it.

As much as he tries to make it seem like it is just like before, this is a perfect example of how it isn’t, in truth.

They keep walking in silence, Yixing looking distractedly around them, eyes darting between houses and small shops he hasn’t seen before.

“Is it far?” he asks after a moment.

“Not too far,” answers Baekhyun. “It’s a little off the road, though. It’s set apart from the rest of the village.”

“Like your house? And the other farms around here?”

“Sort of. It’s still, like, part of the core of the town, but still set aside, kind of. It has a purpose, though. You’ll see when we get there.”

“That’s intriguing.” Baekhyun hears Yixing make a contented noise, like he’s satisfied with whatever is awaiting him. “I like that.”

“Don’t get your hopes up. It’s not that impressive.”

It really isn’t. They reach the place about five minutes later, when the main road empties out to lead to a big establishment of cement. On it, a worn out sign reads in Hangul, Hanja and Japanese, detailing a name in faded letters.

They stop in front of it, the both of them looking up at the sign. Next to Baekhyun, Yixing raises an inquisitive eyebrow. “A school?”

“Precisely,” Baekhyun says. “The only one in town. It holds elementary, middle and high school classes, all of them. All the kids around here go to this place.” A sigh. “I used to, as well.”

Yixing huffs a soft laugh; not mocking, only happy, as if the thought of a smaller, younger Baekhyun making his way to school somehow enchanted him. If it did, Baekhyun wouldn’t know, but he might like the thought anyway. “You took me to your old school.” Another chuckle that turns into a slight giggle at the end. “That’s cute.”

 _No_. Baekhyun flushes. “I had to start somewhere,” he mumbles. “And it wasn’t just me here, everyone else, too. Jongdae, Minseok. Chanyeol, Soojung, Jinki, Jinri—”

Baekhyun cuts his sentence short. He doesn’t want to talk about ghosts.

Yixing doesn’t seem to mind, another question already coming out of his mouth. “Who taught you?”

“They used to put kids from a bunch of grades together, since there weren’t many teachers. We had different class times, too. The younger ones came in the morning, the older kids in the afternoon. Lee-ahjussi used to teach, when I was a kid. We’d have to call him _seonsangnim_ , though.”

“Lu Han’s father was also a teacher,” Yixing says, a wondering tone to his voice. Baekhyun’s attention perks up at the mention of Lu Han; such an instance is rare. “So obviously, I was his favourite. Not as reckless as his son, but he knew me well enough to like me just a little more than everyone else.”

It’s Baekhyun’s turn to laugh. “Forever the charmer, aren’t you?”

“Not like you, though,” Yixing smirks. He doesn’t carry on with his thought, only tilts his head to add, “What about college?”

Baekhyun scoffs. “No one can afford college, nowadays. Before the war, the rich kids would end up in Seoul, at the Imperial University. That’s where Soojung’s dad studied.”

Yixing whistles, impressed. Moments pass before he asks, “Can we enter?”

“Doubt it,” Baekhyun says. “It’s closed this time of the year anyway, until Chuseok and after harvest. Work has to get done in the fields during summer, and the kids gotta help.”

They start walking back as Yixing speaks. “It was like that back home, too.”

“Do you miss it?” It feels dangerous almost, to ask Yixing about the life he tries so hard to hide.

“A lot. But I’m here now.”

Maybe Baekhyun was too hopeful, after all. Yixing does have a tendency to turn things away from himself, whenever they hit too close to his younger days or the China he used to know. Baekhyun had thought, maybe after what they’d shared, maybe it meant something, maybe it meant that Yixing trusted Baekhyun with something—

_No. It meant nothing. It still means nothing. Get a grip._

Baekhyun welcomes the change of subject, doesn’t pry. He doesn’t know for how long he’ll keep that up, though; keeping a distance doesn’t mean he’s any less curious about Yixing.

Not today, he decides.

“Onto the next stop, then,” he says, voice cheerful, and Yixing smiles at him.

They visit a bakery-turned-restaurant Baekhyun and Jongdae used to spend their late afternoons at, owned by Choi Minho’s parents that used to welcome pretty much every kid in the village, Baekhyun explains. Yixing smiles, tasting the pastries with an intent and curious face that has Baekhyun smiling back at him.

When honey gets stuck on Yixing’s upper lip, Baekhyun looks away.

As they walk, Yixing asks questions again, and Baekhyun answers. It’s becoming a familiar pattern of their relationship; when they’re together, whether it is in the bookstore, outside, in the fields, or in another city completely, it seems, Yixing has things he wonders about, and Baekhyun teaches him. Yixing learns, and Baekhyun watches him.

As they walk, Baekhyun observes Yixing, his curious looks and questions, his earnest words. But he also catches sight of the way Yixing observes things too, the way his eyes always seem to speak of something else, something far away that Baekhyun can’t reach but desperately wants to.

As they walk, Baekhyun is suddenly reminded that his own curiosity isn’t like Yixing’s, and that maybe he should stop, before he gets too close again.

They stop walking in front of the tavern. Or rather, Baekhyun stops, and Yixing falters, watching him with a question in his eyes.

“Is it over already?” Yixing asks, petulant.

“Just for today,” Baekhyun amends. “The tour isn’t over, but it is, for today.”

Yixing frowns, and almost makes Baekhyun reconsider his words. “But I thought…”

“Don’t worry,” Baekhyun says. “I promise you I’ll show you around again. There’s still a lot I want you to see.”

“But why not now?” It’s not a whine, or a senseless complaint. There’s hurt hiding behind Yixing’s words, and it’s ridiculous, because…

God, everything is getting confusing again. Why?

“Because,” Baekhyun says. He’s too conscious of the way Yixing is looking at him, like he’s trying to figure him out, and if Baekhyun is being honest, he isn’t sure what he’s doing either.

“Granted, then,” Yixing finally complies. “But we’ll do this again, yeah? I won’t let you forget. You owe me.”

“I won’t forget either,” Baekhyun says, and smiles. He doesn’t know what he tries to convey with that smile. “Wanna get lunch with Jongdae and Minseok-hyung? It should be past noon, by now.”

Yixing seems startled by the sudden request. “Uh, yeah, okay. Yeah.” Confusion is written all over his face, and Baekhyun sort of wants to go back in time, to a few minutes ago, and keep his thoughts and actions from leading to this moment that he starts to despise quickly.

Instead, he starts walking.

His hand catches, or rather, is being caught by Yixing’s. The touch is warm and sends fireworks flowing through Baekhyun’s bloodstream, and he barely resists the urge to pull Yixing towards him.

“I had fun, Baekhyun,” Yixing lets out. His eyes are searching Baekhyun’s, hopeful.

Baekhyun doesn’t know what to do, what to say. He had fun too, except maybe not as much as he had wished, because doing things under fear is not something Baekhyun enjoys. And right now, Baekhyun is sort of terrified, all over again.

So he says, “I’m glad,” and that’s that.

They walk in silence to the guesthouse, and Baekhyun sort of hates himself, suddenly.

***

A few days later finds Yixing staying at the guesthouse, helping out Minseok with some cleaning and heavy duty work, and so instead of Yixing’s company at the bookstore, Baekhyun receives the visit of Jongdae.

Jongdae doesn’t like books. In fact, Baekhyun can’t remember the last time he stepped into the store.

The sight of him at the front door makes Baekhyun stop in his tracks, books piled up in his arms and Minseok’s spectacles dangerously low on his nose.

(He stole them from the older the night before, as he was suddenly reminded of an afternoon in May, of a strong arm around his shoulders, of a comforting embrace. Sharp features enhanced by the glasses, leaving shadows behind and making Baekhyun’s heart flutter. It was a spontaneous decision, and Minseok let him have at it.)

“You’re here,” Baekhyun says, like it isn’t obvious. “You’re in my bookstore.”

Jongdae nods. “And you’re wearing Minseok-hyung’s glasses.”

Baekhyun shouldn’t be blushing, but he is. He’s thankful for the heavy books in his arms that hide most of his cheeks. “What brings you here, then?”

“The smell of books,” Jongdae answers as Baekhyun heads to the aisle next to him. These books need rearranging. “The striking, wonderful scent of knowledge and years upon years of incredible history and literature, obviously.”

“Cut the bullshit, Jongdae,” Baekhyun retorts.

“Fine, I came to see you. You’re weird, lately.”

Baekhyun rolls his eyes, standing back up to head to the counter at the back of the store where Jongdae is sitting. It reminds him of Yixing.

Everything reminds him of Yixing.

“Funny, that,” Baekhyun muses. “Minseok-hyung came to wake me up, like, two weeks ago. He said the same thing.” Baekhyun pauses, then remembers, “You sent him, actually.”

“Hm,” Jongdae says. “But, like, Minseok-hyung is our _hyung_. I’m your best friend. So you won’t lie to my face, right?”

“Minseok is also my best friend.”

“But I’m your bestest friend.”

“‘Bestest’ isn’t a word.”

“Baekhyunnie,” Jongdae whines. Jongdae is the king of whining, and Baekhyun still hasn’t gotten used to it, even after nearly twenty years of knowing each other. “I just want what’s best for you. Tell me. Talk to me.”

_Talk to me._

Literally _everything_ reminds him of Yixing.

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“Is it about Yixing?”

Baekhyun stops, doesn’t look up.

“Ah, so it is,” Jongdae murmurs. “You know, I thought I was wrong, at first. ‘Cause like, you guys have been somewhat getting better, you know. I don’t know what went down between you two—Minseok didn’t really say much, and I doubt you told him much either—but you’ve been acting… different. You were like, attached to the hip, you know?”

Jongdae has that pensive expression on his face that usually looks comical but that Baekhyun finds terribly annoying and unnerving at the moment.

Oblivious to Baekhyun’s inner turmoil, Jongdae continues. “And then, one day, bam. You guys stop talking to each other, or sort of, anyway, and _you’ve_ been acting like Yixing broke your heart, or something.” A tilt of the head. “Well, now that I think about it, Yixing kind of looked like he was heartbroken, too.”

“You’re spitting nonsense, Jongdae.” Baekhyun didn’t have a heart meant to be broken It already was. Not by love, but by the war.

Nonsense.

Jongdae continues to act like Baekhyun hasn’t said a word, swinging his head from left to right as he speaks. “But then, you started getting better. After that one time Yixing just took off running to the bookstore.”

“He—what?”

A smirk plays on Jongdae’s lips. Baekhyun frowns. Was it that one afternoon, when Yixing had suddenly appeared seemingly out of nowhere, as Baekhyun had emptied his heart out on the piano keys that faced him?

Jongdae doesn’t provide the answer, obviously. “The both of you started talking again, speaking again. But like, it was different, wasn’t it? You…”

It’s the first time Baekhyun ever witnesses Jongdae stop midsentence, as if some realization has just dawned on him, suddenly.

When he speaks again, Baekhyun wishes he hadn’t. “It was like, you started acting like friends. Friends, who used to be lovers.”

The last words are hushed, and Baekhyun freezes.

His blood runs cold and his muscles tense and stay rigid, unmoving. He’s pretty sure he’s stopped breathing, and fear makes his heart double in speed.

From the corner of his eye, he thinks Jongdae has stopped moving, observing Baekhyun with a gaze Baekhyun doesn’t want to decipher. “Am I right?”

“No,” Baekhyun hears his own voice say. “No, you’re—you’re not.”

“You know,” Jongdae says again. “If I were to be right, I wouldn’t say I understand it. To me, it’s wrong. It just is. But Baekhyun… you’re my best friend. And I know you better than anyone else. I’ve noticed things, you know.”

“Jongdae—”

“And if you were to—to be like _that_ , I think… I mean, I would think about it, for sure. But you’re Baekhyun. You’re the fucking best guy I know, never done one wrong thing in his life. Always making the right choice So maybe I would consider it, you know. Maybe it isn’t, like, as wrong, after all. Because I trust you, Baekhyun. And I love you, no matter what. Even if I don’t understand… even if I might not understand you as well as I thought.”

“You’re not making any sense, Kim Jongdae.”

“Baekhyun—”

“You’re wrong, I told you that.” Baekhyun’s voice still feels and sounds foreign to his own ears. “Absolutely, completely wrong.”

Long moments pass, as Baekhyun stays immobile, vision blurred and painted red with anxiety and fear.

Jongdae’s words play over and over again in his mind, like a malicious chant that Baekhyun doesn’t want to hear but that rings too true to his heart and hits too close to home for him to ignore.

_I trust you, Baekhyun._

Another voice, louder. _Baekhyun, can you trust me? Do you trust me?_

“You’re wrong,” Baekhyun repeats, but he’s whispering now, and he doesn’t sound convinced.

A sigh resonates from Jongdae. “If you say so, then okay. I’m just—just letting you know, though. Food for thought, and all that.”

Baekhyun still can’t see properly, vision clouded by thoughts and words that scream in his head. “Did you come all the way over here to tell me that?”

“I was hoping for a conversation, actually—”

“Sorry to disappoint, then. You were wrong, and I have nothing to say.”

“Yeah.” Jongdae gets off from the counter, starts walking to the front door.

Baekhyun hears him stop, before he hears, “You know, you should be careful.”

“What?”

“I might get it, a little, Baekhyun. But I don’t think Minseok-hyung would take it well.” A pause. “He loves you, but… he doesn’t understand it, either. And I doubt he wants to.”

This time, Baekhyun really stops breathing, and he fears he’s going to fall over, hit his head on the wall, die from internal bleeding. He almost wouldn’t mind it.

He hears Jongdae close the front door behind him. Baekhyun is left alone in the store, a deafening silence surrounding him, broken only by the hiccups of his ragged breath and the constant scream of his thoughts.

The pair of arms he wishes for the most are the ones he can’t afford to have around him.

 

 

***

 

 

***

_Satan, farceur, tu veux me dissoudre, avec tes charmes._

***

On July 17th, the South—now the Republic of Korea—puts forward its national constitution. Three days later, the first President is elected.

Jongdae follows the news closely, restless in Minseok’s room, the radio speaking low and serious in the space. The news came in late at night, and Yixing had opted for sleep instead. Baekhyun suspected it was something else that kept him from listening to news of governments and careless parties waging a silent war against each other. He understands him.

There is still very little word as to what is going on in the North, but rumours are increasing about the Soviet Union wanting to implement a communist government in the territory. Names of potential leaders circulate, some more recurrent than others. Jongdae pays attention, Minseok looks wary, Baekhyun ignores it.

War against leftists was more or less officially declared by President Rhee, and stories of executions and surprise attacks were more and more common.

Baekhyun only wished for peace, but it now seemed absolutely ridiculous, impossible.

He dreads the future, the implications of another war so near, if it hadn’t started already.

1948 doesn’t sound like a good year to start a war, a dark part of Baekhyun thinks. Maybe God will allow him and his loved ones more time. More time to live, to love, or at least pretend either. Baekhyun sometimes hates not knowing just how long he has to live, or how death will strike him. Hopes of a death by old age are completely and undoubtedly inconceivable to him at this point. A bullet through his head sounds like the least compromising, least deceiving option. A best case scenario, of sorts.

He wonders if Yixing is afraid of death. He wonders how Yixing has faced it before—he doesn’t need to wonder if he _has_ , because Baekhyun knows that already, knows it in the way some of the exhaustion from Yixing’s first day in the village is still deeply staining his traits.

Yixing pays little attention to the news, and vanishes completely as soon as the anchors mention China. A civil war is taking the country apart, has been since 1945. Maybe, Baekhyun wonders, Yixing hates the thought of his country at war. Or maybe it reminds him of a country he doesn’t know anymore.

Or maybe, it reminds him of the war he’s surely witnessed, Baekhyun concludes one day.

The urgent desire to burst in Yixing’s room, in Yixing’s space, and ask him all those questions and share all those conflicting ideas hits Baekhyun more and more often. He’s been curious about the Chinese stranger having stumbled into his shop ever since he’s laid eyes on him, and although the way they’ve been dancing around each other these past few weeks has been a drastic change to the easygoing, close friendship they had developed within the two to three months of Yixing’s stay, this desire to know more still burns bright in Baekhyun.

He wants to know Yixing, to understand him, and maybe…

Maybe it goes beyond their shared kiss, that Baekhyun doesn’t let himself think about often at all, but then again, maybe it has all to do with it, because there’s a tiny, ridiculously small part of Baekhyun that wants to melt into Yixing’s everything and let him in and know him inside and out and offer him everything he has to give in return.

Baekhyun wants answers.

He had never thought of getting them the way they came to him, though. Someday, he might blame himself, for the things that happened afterwards. Even though, he knows, they were far beyond his control.

***

The annoying thing about these sorts of things, is that they occur when one expects them less.

Despite the tensions and repeated news of attacks, crimes, executions, or anything of the sort, the prospect of any of them occurring in Baekhyun’s daily, routinely life seemed impossible, almost. As if Baekhyun and everyone around him, everything around him was completely detached from the conflicts and the fights.

Call it being careless or ignorant, the point remains that Baekhyun wasn’t expecting it. And if he’s honest, it shouldn’t have happened, not anywhere, of course, but especially not the village, not _his_ village, not his home.

They had nothing to do with the war, none of them.

Today is July 24th, but Baekhyun will only remember it as the worst day of his life, for a few long months after that. The afternoon sun is setting, plunging the kitchen in a yellow tint he’s never witnessed before. It’s beautiful, in a way that’s warm and comforting, but that also speaks of wanderlust Baekhyun has never felt before.

He likes it, though, the way the light paints the room differently. As he’s washing the rice to cook it, he thinks that Yixing would probably enjoy the sunset too; he would point out the rich ambiance the light is setting, asking Baekhyun a variety of questions about sunsets and sunrises and everything about the sun, the one high up in the sky that isn’t hiding in his eyes.

The day isn’t particularly hot, either. There’s a soft breeze that is blowing and rustling the linen curtains, and there’s a sharp scent in the air that Baekhyun can’t quite define but that he doesn’t dislike.

Baekhyun wants to hum. Sing, even.

That is, until Jongdae bursts the front door open, hair askew and panting loudly in the small house. His eyes are haggard and stained red, like he’s been crying, but there’s a flaming anger tainting his irises and an urgency that makes Baekhyun’s blood freeze and boil at the same time.

Something is going on.

“Baekhyun,” he rasps. “The guesthouse.”

The smell of smoke is dangerously strong, coming from Jongdae, and Baekhyun recognises the same sharp odor he’s been smelling in his kitchen, moments ago, when everything felt peaceful. There are stains on Jongdae’s white shirt, black and oily and staring Baekhyun right in the face, like a mockery.

Realization dawns on him, like a bucket of ice water dumped over his head and stealing away any illusion of warmth and comfort. He can feel his arms and legs tremble, adrenaline already pushing him forward towards the front door.

Baekhyun desperately hopes to be wrong. It can’t be happening.

He kicks off running without waiting for Jongdae to follow, leaving the rice and his house behind. He knows Jongdae to be not too far behind, but Baekhyun doesn’t wait; he runs, runs faster, keeps running because he doesn’t want it to be real, and also, he doesn’t want it to be too late.

He curses his ancestors for building the farmhouse so far from the main road. He curses his legs for not taking him faster, for tiring out despite the continuous effort he puts into them. Baekhyun doesn’t slow down, however; only goes faster, more desperately.

The smell hits before he sees it. Smoke suffocates his lungs, clouds the view in front of him. He’s still about two hundred meters away from the guesthouse, but he can see the flames intertwining the thick fog of smoke standing above the house clearly, stark oranges against soft black and gray.

Fire doesn’t have the right to be beautiful. Not now.

He hears Jongdae faintly scream something at him from behind, but his hearing has become minimal, the only sound in his ears being the constant and unrelenting thump of his heart. His eyes are tearing from the smoke, but he doesn’t stop running, until he’s facing the guesthouse, or what’s left of it.

_No. No, no, no._

In front of him, the entire building is in flames, blinding him and letting out deep breaths of smoke. It really looks like it’s breathing, except to Baekhyun, it’s only killing Minseok’s guesthouse, destroying in the most terrible of ways.

Minseok, Yixing. He has to find them.

His entire body is shaking as he heads towards the house, but an arm cups his waist and keeps him from going further.

“Baekhyun!” Jongdae shouts in his ear. Suddenly, his hearing comes back, and he can hear the cracking of the wood and fire and Jongdae’s loud breathing behind him. “Are you fucking crazy? You can’t go in there!”

“But I have to find them—” He has to.

“They’re okay,” Jongdae says. Baekhyun can only see the flames facing them. “They weren’t in the house. We only heard shouts and we came here, and…”

Jongdae doesn’t finish talking. His hold on Baekhyun relents, and Baekhyun falls on his knees. He knows Jongdae to be right behind him, probably still standing.

He doesn’t know, doesn’t know anything.

It’s as if everything around him slows down, as if the smoke-thick air is weighing down time as well. Baekhyun starts to notice the people around him; it’s the biggest crowd he’s seen in the village since wartime. They’re all either watching the flames eat up the mansion, or helping tame the fire and attempt to salvage a few of the belongings they can take out. They’ll certainly have to wait until the fire is maintained, and eventually extinguished to do a proper job at that.

If anything remains, that is.

He hears murmurs and shouts, sees pity and sadness and fear in some of the eyes he catches. He can feel water running down his cheeks, mixing with the soot that’s slowly covering him and everything around him.

His knees dig deep in the dirtied soil and Baekhyun wants to scream, but he doesn’t have the strength to.

He stands up, because he still needs to find Minseok. He still needs to find Yixing.

His head is swimming; his lungs are catching on the ashes spread in the air. The wind carries them across the village, and he wants God to stop, stop everything, stop this mess and fix it immediately.

No such thing is possible, though, and he hates it to be the truth.

Unsteady legs guide him a few steps away from the house that’s now behind him. He can’t dare to look back at it again, not until the flames are doused. Maybe even then, it’ll be worse.

Jongdae is next to him, a steady hand on his shoulder. “Are you looking for them?”

“Take me,” is all Baekhyun says.

Jongdae nods, pushing against his shoulder to guide him. Baekhyun hates how much affected he is, seems; then again, as he steals a look at Jongdae, his friend is still crying himself, and his hands are far from steady.

They find Minseok on the ground, his back against a wooden pole, eyes empty and his entire body shaking. He has his knees against his chest, his arms hugging them tightly. Baekhyun has never seen him look so small, so vulnerable, looking much younger than his years. Soot and dirt is covering his entire body, his hair sticking up in all directions, and Baekhyun catches sight of slight burns on his hands.

“Hyung…” Nothing else comes out of Baekhyun’s mouth. Minseok doesn’t even look up to him; his eyes are lost, staring at a horizon Baekhyun can’t see, small hiccups sometimes escaping his throat.

Baekhyun’s heart breaks. None of this should be happening. It can’t be happening, either, but with how he has difficulty breathing, and how everything is awful around him, it’s hard to believe, impossible to ignore.

It hits him that this is Minseok’s house too, Minseok’s _home_ , has been his family’s property for decades. It took a simple fire to make it disappear, and Baekhyun feels his throat choke on the realization.

Jongdae slowly lowers himself on the ground next to Minseok, and Minseok welcomes his embrace, eyes still unfocused but crying now, sobs shaking his body and making the oldest curl up on himself. Baekhyun can’t stand the sight of it.

“He’s over there, Baekhyun,” Jongdae says, his voice unsteady, as he motions with his head towards the opposite direction of the road, the one leading to the bookstore.

Baekhyun turns, his heart stopping. Further ahead, the shape of Yixing is clear and steady amongst the chaos that’s behind him. He doesn’t look hurt, from this far away; his clothes look dirty just like Baekhyun’s, but otherwise, Yixing seems fine, thankfully.

Something stabs in Baekhyun suddenly, dangerously—the thought that had Minseok or Yixing been staying in the guesthouse, the moment the fire took off, Baekhyun could have lost them.

He could have lost his best friend; he could have lost… _Yixing_.

Yixing is too important to let go of, too important to lose; too important to be just a friend, despite Baekhyun having known parts of him for a few months only.

Baekhyun starts running again, limbs pushing at the maximum of their weakened strength until his body hits Yixing’s as he winds his arms around him.

It takes a few seconds for Yixing to react, but when he seems to realize what’s going on, Baekhyun feels a strong pair of arms reciprocate his embrace. They’re tight, almost suffocating around his chest, but they’re a good kind of suffocating, unlike the smoke that still lingers all around them.

They stay together in silence, Baekhyun’s face in Yixing’s neck, breathing him in and assuring himself of his presence. They’re both shaking, but as time passes by, Baekhyun relaxes, and feels Yixing doing the same around him. He doesn’t make to move away, though. He still holds Yixing tight against himself, still breathes his scent deep, as the adrenaline leaves him slowly and lets exhaustion settle in instead.

“Baekhyun,” Yixing murmurs in his ear. His voice is slightly shaky, but Baekhyun appreciates the effort Yixing puts in trying to sound steady, grounded. He knows it’s not easy.

“Are you okay?” Baekhyun inquires. His voice sounds small.

“I’m okay.” A pause. Baekhyun feels Yixing move against him, securing his hold around him. They’re still standing, set aside from the crowd, still in each other’s space. “Are you?”

“No.” Tears escape Baekhyun’s eyes, staining Yixing’s shirt. “I’m not.”

“I’m here,” Yixing assures. A hand comes to Baekhyun’s hair, holding him there, a comforting touch in the chaos.

“I know,” Baekhyun replies. “I know. Thank God, I know.” Baekhyun swallows, wills his tears to stop. “What about your stuff?”

“Baekhyun, don’t worry about me—”

“I can’t help it,” Baekhyun says against Yixing’s skin. “I can’t fucking help it. So tell me.”

Yixing sighs around him, but rather than sounding annoyed, Yixing only sounds concerned, as if Baekhyun’s worry is something he doesn’t want; as if to Yixing, Baekhyun matters more. “It’s gone.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yixing,” Baekhyun says. He moves to pull away, but keeps his arms around Yixing’s waist, pressing his forehead against his shoulder. “Don’t leave me. I mean… don’t leave. Please.”

“I won’t,” Yixing assures him. “I wasn’t going to, either.”

“Please don’t leave me,” Baekhyun repeats, and he doesn’t know why it’s suddenly so important to him, but he needs Yixing near, at all times, because this—even just the idea, the slight possibility of losing Yixing is terrible, inconceivable. Terrifying, more terrifying even than letting him in, as Baekhyun had previously thought. “Just, please don’t.”

He thinks the crowd has dispersed around them, and the cracking sound of the fire has diminished in the air. Voices are more scarce, and Baekhyun thinks he can faintly hear Minseok crying, even from meters away.

His world is falling apart, and Baekhyun needs something to hold onto.

“I won’t leave you, I won’t leave.” Lips press at the top of his head, and Baekhyun’s tears start pouring out again. “I won’t,” Yixing says against his hair.

Desperately, Baekhyun believes him.

***

It takes three hours to contain the fire, and eventually, the flames die.

Baekhyun, Jongdae, Minseok, and Yixing stare the building, or rather, what’s left of it. Wooden ruins, painted black, stand before them, looking fragile and scary and screaming of destruction and hollowness. The roof is completely gone, leaving the halls and rooms bare. It’s not like they can make out anything from the few walls standing, but Baekhyun thinks he can still see what’s left of the rich wooden desk in Minseok’s room, now darkened with soot, ravaged by the fire. It doesn’t even look like a desk anymore.

The smell of smoke is still awfully strong in the air. Most of the people who came to help have gone home now. The sky above them is royal blue, littered with stars, the moon watching over them almost mockingly.

The sky has no right to be beautiful, when a part of Baekhyun’s world has fallen apart, disappeared completely.

He knows the pain he feels, the hole in his heart is nothing compared to what Minseok must be feeling. Minseok, who still hasn’t really regained his senses, his eyes still dropping and unfocused, like he thinks all the mess around is unreal and his brain simply cannot comprehend nor accept it.

Nothing was found as to what caused the fire, but it is seemingly criminal, having been caused by a person and not by some accident. As for the culprit, nothing was found to indicate who it might be; that’s the oddest part, too, since no new guest had reached the village since Kim Jongin, in June, and no one in the village dared to point a finger at anyone.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Baekhyun thinks about the fact that Minseok has kept tons of different people in this guesthouse, offering them shelter, food and protection for as long as they asked. Leftists, rightists, Chinese, Japanese, from the North or elsewhere in the South, none of that mattered; Minseok had opened his logbook to anyone who passed his front door and considered them all as guests, regardless of nationality or ideology.

Most likely, word had gotten out, and some people hadn’t liked the idea.

Baekhyun suppresses a shiver. Yixing’s presence next to him suddenly reminds him that Yixing is also just another guest, even though he’s been staying much longer than anyone else before him. He remains just another stranger, different and from elsewhere, finding shelter in their village. Even if he’s just promised Baekhyun not to leave, it is inevitable that eventually, he will have to. Not because he can’t keep his promise, Baekhyun knows, but because it won’t be safe for him here, anymore.

Jongdae’s loud sigh pulls him out of his thoughts and back to reality. They don’t need to exchange any words of comfort; everything is still so fresh, facing them right ahead, and they’re at a loss.

“Hyung,” Jongdae says, his voice raspy from the lack of use and the smoke in his lungs. “Hyung, let’s go.”

“Where?” Minseok’s voice is small, hidden behind a whisper.

Baekhyun watches as Jongdae flinches. “You should rest, hyung. We all need rest. It’s already dark.”

“Where? Where, Jongdae?” His head looks unsteady on his shoulders. “ _Where?_ ” Minseok screams, before choking on a sob.

Jongdae gathers him in his arms, and although Minseok tries to fight his way out, he gives in after a moment, clutching at Jongdae’s shirt. The younger is crying too, silently.

He looks at Baekhyun. “Take care,” he says, and then he and Minseok start walking away.

Baekhyun feels Yixing take his hand, and Baekhyun doesn’t pull away. “We should go, too,” says Yixing, pulling slightly on Baekhyun’s hand.

Instead of using words, Baekhyun nods, and they make their way to the farmhouse silently under the moonlight.

When they reach the house, Baekhyun’s grandmother is sitting in the kitchen, a cup of tea grown cold in her frail hands, and Baekhyun wants to cry again. He isn’t sure why, this time, but the knot in his throat is there and won’t leave him alone.

She still looks up, a sad, concerned glint to her eyes, and she welcomes Yixing with a quick but sincere smile. “Yixing, dear, good evening.”

“Good evening, halmeoni. I just came to drop Baekhyun by.”

At the words, Baekhyun tightens his hold on Yixing’s hand. Somehow, he’s just noticed they’re still intertwined, but he’s grateful. “What the _fuck_ are you saying? You’re staying here, Yixing. Don’t think for a minute I’m letting you leave this house.” Baekhyun doesn’t even dwell on the fact that he’s just sworn in front of his grandmother.

“I agree with my grandson here,” she says instead of reprimanding him. “I’ll get Baekhyun’s room ready, if you’d please wait.”

Yixing takes a moment to agree, but he does so with a deep bow and another as he takes the old woman’s hand. “Thank you, halmeoni,” he says, voice reverent, tired. “Thank you.”

She covers his hand with both of hers, before she leaves the kitchen to Baekhyun’s room.

“Where were you thinking of going anyway?” Baekhyun asks.

Yixing shrugs, shuffles his feet on the floor. “No idea. I just… I just didn’t want to be a bother.”

“You’re never a bother, Yixing, you hear me?” Baekhyun insists. “Never. Not to me, or anyone in this place, all right?”

Yixing looks at him, and Baekhyun stares right back. Instead of answering, Yixing pulls at his hand, collecting him in his arms, and Baekhyun doesn’t pull away.

He never, ever wants to pull away, ever again.

When she comes back, Baekhyun’s grandmother finds them like that, in each other’s arms, and he doesn’t look at her when he drags Yixing to his bedroom. He’s tired, he needs sleep, days, months, years of sleep.

They get ready for bed in silence, and Yixing is the first to lie down, on the makeshift bed Baekhyun’s grandmother has set up on the floor. It only consists of a red and brown woven carpet, a couple of blankets, and two pillows where the head should be. Yixing makes himself comfortable, but Baekhyun starts shaking his head, eyeing the carpet with an odd look. It's not any different from his own bed, in a way—but at the same time, it is.

What he’s about to ask, he shouldn’t, but he can’t let Yixing so far away. He doesn’t want to.

Also, he wants to assure himself that Yixing is here, with him, and there really is no other way.

“Get up,” he asks. “Come on.”

“What?”

“Share my bed with me.”

Yixing freezes, eyes widening. “Baekhyun, no—”

“Just come on, God,” Baekhyun sighs as he does so himself. He leaves the covers at his feet for Yixing to join him. “You can’t sleep on that old carpet. I won’t let you. And there’s enough room on mine for two.”

“You don’t have to do this.” Yixing says, but he’s standing up, so Baekhyun relaxes.

“I know,” Baekhyun murmurs. “Come on.”

When Yixing settles next to him, Baekhyun doesn’t wait and immediately finds refuge in his arms. Yixing is warm, all around him, soft skin with scattered freckles and tiny bumps, and a few scars, here and there. Baekhyun weaves his fingers in the fabric of Yixing’s undershirt and tangles their legs together, and warmth seeps through him.

He doesn’t question it, this time. He doesn’t, because he’s somehow thought it through, amongst the panic and the chaos and the despair, and he won’t let go. Baekhyun isn’t asking for a kiss or intimacy or anything—just comfort, reassurance, and he knows Yixing to be able to give him that, just like he has an inkling he might also be that person, to Yixing.

Yixing, who responds by welcoming his touch, not pushing further, knowing what Baekhyun wants, seeks. Their breathing evens out, but Baekhyun doesn’t sleep.

“Yixing?” Yixing hums. Baekhyun continues. “Are you really okay?”

“I don’t know,” Yixing replies. “Shouldn’t I be?”

“No,” Baekhyun says, shaking his head slowly against Yixing’s chest. “You shouldn’t, and I don’t think you’re as fine as you tell me to be either.”

Yixing takes a moment to speak, threading soft fingers through Baekhyun’s hair. “You’re probably right.” After a short beat, he adds, “It’s not the first time.”

“What?”

“Remember the fields I told you about, in my village?” Yixing says, voice sounding from somewhere far away. Near Changsha, Baekhyun presumes. “They burned, too. And everyone who was there with them.” Yixing shuffles on the bed, pulling Baekhyun closer. “It was terrible. I didn’t see it happen, of course, because I stayed behind like my grandfather had instructed me to. I didn’t see it happen, I didn’t see them die. I saw them dead, though. I’m not sure it makes a difference, really.”

Baekhyun is frozen in place, but he regains some thought quickly, sliding an arm around Yixing’s waist, palm pressed against the skin under the cotton of his shirt.

Before Baekhyun can say a word, Yixing speaks again. “Sometimes, I think, had I gone with them, I could have ended up burned alive, too. My corpse might have been counted amongst them, my friends, my family… It would have been less painful than to lose them, right?” Baekhyun hears Yixing swallow tears, and he presses his hand against the skin of his back, drawing small circles over the muscles. “I miss them so much, Baekhyun. So much… But yeah. It’s not the first time. So maybe that’s why, I’m okay this time.” He swallows again. “I’ve already lost everything once.”

Baekhyun closes his eyes, listens to Yixing catch his breath, his hands moving restlessly over Baekhyun’s skin, trying to stop trembling. Baekhyun allows it. “Is that why you came here?”

“It’s one of the reasons,” Yixing explains. “I had nowhere to go, no one to turn to. So I took off and ran, headed where my feet dared to take me.”

“I’m sorry about your family, your village,” Baekhyun says. Sleep is pulling at him, making it hard to open his eyes again, to utter words that make sense, but he keeps pushing until they come out of his mouth. “I’m sorry you lost everything. I’m sorry you had to go through it again today.”

“No, Baekhyun,” Yixing whispers. “I told you, I’m okay.”

“But you’re not.”

“I can pretend to be.”

“I don’t want you to.”

“But I have to,” Yixing says. “And I’m sorry, too. I’m sorry about the guesthouse, about making this happen. I’m sorry you had to lose something you cherished so much. I’m sorry I scared you, too.”

Yixing is only half right. “You didn’t make this happen, what are you saying?”

A sigh resonates around them. The room is plunged in the dark, and Baekhyun can only see the back of his eyelids, although he feels Yixing next to him, his sheets and the floor under him, the soft wind coming from the window still smelling very faintly of smoke. He feels it all, but there’s only Yixing’s voice that really reaches him. “I’m different,” Yixing lets out. “In many ways. But especially, I’m not from around here. And ignorance might make people… wary of me. Afraid, maybe, or maybe they just hate me. So they’ll try to get rid of me. Of people like Minseok, too, who help without thinking twice about the consequences. Bad things, happening to good people.”

“Yixing,” Baekhyun pleads. “Yixing, shut up. I don’t like what you’re saying.”

“Are you tired, Baekhyun?”

“Yes. None of this is your fault, and I’m tired, and…”

Baekhyun feels too heavy to finish his sentence. Rather than saying anything, Yixing only kisses the top of his head, and Baekhyun falls asleep.

 

 

***

 

 

 

***

 _Le malheur a été mon dieu. Je me suis allongé dans la boue. Je me suis séché à l'air du crime._ _Et j'ai joué de bons tours à la folie._

***

It’s odd, how sleep is often synonym of comfort, of peace, even though one knows that as they awake, the world around them is anything but.

Baekhyun feels it particularly today, as his senses slowly sharpen to the morning air and his limbs lose their numbness. Faded light is filtered through his eyelids, painting the back of them red and orange, and he can feel its heat on his skin along with a small wind that brushes against it. It’s silent around him; the one thing he can hear aside from the wind is his own breathing, synchronized with another, close, quiet. Most of all, Baekhyun feels warm, all over, as his sheets keep the heat of two bodies under them and makes his skin simmer with it.

There is an arm draped over his stomach, and legs tangled in his. He can feel the tip of a nose brushing next to his ear, and Baekhyun would scramble away at the intimacy, if the part of him craving it so badly wasn’t as strong. Besides, his insides don’t fight the proximity anymore; they relax in it, and Baekhyun breathes deeply.

It feels nice, warm; so warm. It’s a relief, even.

It doesn’t make him forget, though. Not at all.

The events of the night before are still so vividly clear in his head, replaying over and over like harsh seizures of his mind that disrupt his peace. No matter how much he tries to chase them away, to let go of the memories and make his mind forget, he knows it is futile. He won’t forget the flames, high up in the night sky, the soot and the smoke, the dirt and the tears, Minseok’s empty glare and Yixing’s hard one.

It’s hard to believe that the guesthouse is gone, completely vanished.

The guesthouse was an integral part of his life, just like the farmhouse or the fields. Not only that, but it was Minseok’s—his best friend, who now had lost his home and source of income, even if Minseok wasn’t one to worry about money.

But the fact remains—Minseok, Baekhyun; Jongdae, Yixing; everyone in their small town; they all had lost something so monumentally _theirs_ , a symbol of their community as well as their hospitality, that certainly shook them to the core. Baekhyun also knows it isn’t just some random crime with no motive, not with everything that’s going on.

The fire was a stark reminder that the war spares no one. Absolutely no one.

It was also a reminder that safety is seemingly only an illusion, and that danger lurks just around the corner, just close enough to make one wary, worried, afraid.

Baekhyun is wary, worried; afraid.

At least, the warmth of Yixing’s embrace appeases him a little, for now. Just this morning, Baekhyun will let himself have that, and maybe today too, and this week; just a little longer, for a while anyway. He hasn’t decided yet.

He feels Yixing stir behind him, limbs tensing up before relaxing again, deep breaths inhaled and exhaled again slowly. Baekhyun shifts so that he can look at Yixing’s face as he wakes up, watches as life breathes into his features, opening his eyes and lighting them up and putting a tiny sleepy smile on his plump lips.

Baekhyun is sad, very sad, and it probably shows, but he grins back anyway, a little small that reflects Yixing’s.

“Hi,” he breathes.

“Hi,” Yixing replies, his gaze roaming Baekhyun’s face before settling back on his eyes. His smile has faded a little bit. “How are you feeling?”

“Terrible,” Baekhyun whispers. “Sad. Angry, too. But mostly just… empty.” Then after a moment, as he thinks his words over again, he adds, “I’m glad you’re here, though.”

“Where else would I be?”

Baekhyun wants to smile at that face for the rest of his life, if he could, suddenly. “I don’t know,” he says, with a shrug despite lying down. “But you’re here. So thank you.”

“I told you I’m not going anywhere,” Yixing murmurs.

“I know,” Baekhyun says.

Yixing stays silent, having made his point clear. Baekhyun still decides to believe him, despite how reckless that sounds even to him.

It’s odd how even by staying quiet, just staring at each other, it doesn’t feel out of place, or awkward; their silence is companionable, comfortable, serene. It’s similar to the overall aura Yixing has, too—approachable, warm, comforting; but also strong, determined, hardworking.

“Yixing,” Baekhyun says.

“Baekhyun.”

“I…” He doesn’t want the words to come out, but he pushes them ahead, because… “If I were to kiss you again, would you let me?”

Baekhyun feels hot, scorching hot, all over; as if last night’s flames had relocated overnight in his guts and are now burning him from the inside.

Yixing’s eyebrows furrow, and Baekhyun wasn’t expecting anything, but concern was certainly not what he thought he would be faced with. “Why now, Baekhyun?”

“Last night,” Baekhyun says, “the thought of losing you—it was unbearable. It still is. I don’t want to have to go through this, and it’s fucking crazy, because I sort of barely know you, and… and yet, I don’t know.” Baekhyun’s breath is shaky, unstable. “Yet I really, really want to kiss you again. Not now, maybe, but if I were to be brave enough to do it again, would you let me?”

Yixing’s eyes are searching, like they were a few days ago, trying to figure out Baekhyun when even Baekhyun isn’t sure about anything.

Then, they settle, and Yixing says, “I would let you. I would have never stopped you.”

Baekhyun’s breath is stolen away, and he’s already incredibly tempted to kiss Yixing once again—just to taste him again, to make sure that the first time wasn’t just a dream or a once-in-a-lifetime thing that Baekhyun would never be able to recover.

Something keeps him from doing it, though; although they’re alone, and there’s technically nothing to fear, Baekhyun still hasn’t ridden himself of his worry.

“Okay,” Baekhyun lets out. Instead of a kiss, he slides an arm around Yixing’s waist, pulling himself closer and hiding his face in his neck.

“Minseok-hyung,” Baekhyun begins. “We have to go see him.”

“Of course.”

“I hate this so much,” Baekhyun says, his voice so low he’s not sure Yixing has heard him. “I hate this so, so much.”

“I know, Baekhyun. Me too,” Yixing says in his hair. It’s a habit of his, it seems, and Baekhyun doesn’t mind it. “Me too.”

It takes them a while before getting out of bed, as they stay immobile and tangled in each other for about an hour longer, Baekhyun slipping in and out of sleep. Yixing’s arms remain around him all along.

***

Jongdae brought Minseok to his house, or rather his room, above the tavern.

That’s where he lives, alone; there used to be his brother and father too, but Jongdeok hadn’t come back since the early years of the war, and Jongdae’s father had passed away about two years before from a heart failure. It’s now Jongdae only, living in the small habitation above the tavern he opens every evening.

It’s odd to see it crammed with people—even if the total only amounts to four—as Minseok lies sleeping on the floor, Jongdae sitting next to him, Baekhyun and Yixing near the door by the sink and next to the lone wardrobe in the space.

Jongdae is applying cold compresses on Minseok’s forehead; the older man’s skin is paper white, making his lips look blood red against his face. His eyebrows are furrowed even in his sleep; Baekhyun dreads to think what dreams his friend might be seeing.

“He’s been all kinds of fucked up since last night,” Jongdae says. Worry is sprained all over the pulled muscles of his face. “It obviously wasn’t easy for anyone, but hyung—this was literally everything to him. His temperature hasn’t stopped rising, and he talks nonsense whenever he wakes up.”

“Do you think it’ll last?” Baekhyun asks. He has his arms around him, leaning against the wall next to the door. He doesn’t want to get too close; Jongdae had recommended to let room for Minseok to breathe anyway.

Jongdae dunks the wet cloth back in ice before wringing it tightly and putting it back on Minseok’s skin. “I have no idea,” he says. “It could be gone by tonight just like it could last two to three more days. I’m really clueless, I have no idea what to do—”

“Jongdae,” speaks Yixing. “It’s been tough for you, too. Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

“But hyung needs—”

“Yixing’s right, Jongdae,” Baekhyun cuts. “Did you even get any sleep since last night?”

Pressed lips and a roll of eyes answer Baekhyun. “How could I sleep anyway?” Jongdae rasps. It shows, on his face, in the way his hands shake even as they work on Minseok delicately and efficiently. “I would have had nightmares about it anyway.”

After a short but heavy silence, Baekhyun sighs. He can’t really argue against Jongdae, although he believes his friend needs rest, so he carries onto his next worry; the biggest one, the one that’s been eating him up since last night. “So what now?”

Jongdae raises an eyebrow at that. His features look even more hollow than they did just seconds ago. “That’s a pretty damn good question, Baekhyunnie,” he retorts, and there’s a slight bite to his words Baekhyun can’t help but notice. “For now, I guess hyung will stay here with me, until he gets better. And then after…” Jongdae lifts his shoulders, and when he releases them, it’s with a defeated look on his face, that he hides quickly as he soaks Minseok’s skin with cold water. “I’m not sure. I think… I think Minseok-hyung will probably want to leave.”

Baekhyun freezes, a cold feeling washing over him. “Leave?”

Next to him, Yixing asks with a steeled voice, “Where to?”

“Seoul,” Jongdae murmurs. “He told me, a while ago.”

“What?” Baekhyun spurts out. “When was that? And why didn’t he tell me?”

“It was just talk over some early drinks we had a while ago,” Jongdae says with a low voice. “I think you guys,” he points between Baekhyun and Yixing, “were together.”

It doesn’t sound like an accusation at all, but Baekhyun still feels hot with it.

“What exactly did he say?” he presses.

“It wasn’t anything serious,” Jongdae rectifies. “Like, as I mentioned my trip, he just started talking about eventually going, living there. Not that he wanted to, really. But if the opportunity presented itself, he would consider it.”

“Why would hyung ever want to leave?” Baekhyun whispers. It doesn’t make any sense.

It makes even less sense when Jongdae speaks again. “Why would he ever want to _stay_? Was is there here for him to gain? Especially now that the guesthouse is gone—it was the only thing keeping him there, and he loved it, sure. But think about it, Baekhyun. Minseok-hyung, or you and me, there’s nothing here for us.”

No. No, no, no. Baekhyun cannot deal with this now, not coming from Jongdae, not— “What do you mean, there’s the fields, there’s your tavern, and I have the bookstore—”

“And you deem it enough, seriously?” Jongdae asks incredulously. Baekhyun is still desperately exhausted and incredibly shocked, but Jongdae is looking at him with a fiery glare that he can’t detach his eyes from. “You really count on staying here, growing rice and selling books for the rest of your life? In a village that was proven once again, just yesterday, to be far from safe?”

“Jongdae—”

“Have you ever thought about a _future_ , Baekhyun? Or are you still stuck in the past?” Jongdae shakes his head. “It’s written all over you, you know. How much you still think about it, about everything—Japan, and how it was before the war. How much you want it all back. Well, sorry to break it to you, Baekhyunnie—it’ll never be like it was, back in the day. There’s still fights going on, and there’s gonna be more coming. The entire country is at war, and God damn it, that means us too, Baekhyun!”

From somewhere next to him, Baekhyun hears Yixing say Jongdae’s name, but his best friend just carries on. “Things won’t be, won’t stay like this forever, Baekhyun. I don’t know in what world you live in right now, but…” When he stops, it’s as though there’s no more words left in him, as if whatever had pushed him to say all those things just now has just vanished in thin air, like it was never there to start with. “Forget it, I’m sorry.”

Tears well up in Baekhyun’s eyes, because Jongdae is right—in fact, Jongdae has just summed up Baekhyun’s darkest, deepest thoughts, into their ugliest, most terrifying form. And Baekhyun doesn’t know what to do. “So, what? You want me to enlist again or something? You want me to lose myself in this nonsense again when I’ve already gone through enough the first time?”

“That’s not it, look, forget it—”

“You can’t just dump all these things on me and beg me to ignore it, Jongdae!” Baekhyun screams. “What—what the fuck, I… what do you expect from me, huh?”

None of this should be happening, none of it.

Jongdae shakes his head vigorously, frustrated. “Nothing! I just worry about you! Do you know how fucking distant you’ve been these past few years? Maybe you didn’t notice anything, didn’t see anything, but I did. Hyung did too. You’ve seemed and looked empty up until Yixing came around.”

Time stops.

Baekhyun stops, too.

“What the hell,” he breathes out, because it’s all he can do, because literally nothing makes sense anymore. “I…”

He turns to Yixing, who’s fixing the floor with an intent, heated gaze, as if looking up would bring him death, or something.

“Fucking kids, you are.”

The voice is weak, hoarse, but Baekhyun startles anyway.

On the floor, under his blankets, Minseok is stirring, rubbing his eyes with his fists. “Get out of here. Let me sleep. It’s already hard enough to rest as it is—just fucking leave.”

Baekhyun doesn’t need to be told twice. “I’ll see you later, hyung.”

“I know. Now go.”

Baekhyun leaves the room and flies down the stairs and into the street, not waiting to see if Yixing’s followed him.

He has, though, obviously. Baekhyun hears him call his name, but doesn’t stop walking, almost running back to his house.

“Baekhyun, wait!” Yixing yells behind him.

Baekhyun doesn’t wait. Instead, he brushes off annoying tears from his eyes with frustrated hands. This visit was supposed to be about Minseok—about his friend who had lost something so incredibly immense, and yet…

Jongdae’s words replay in his head like a malicious lullaby, and Baekhyun still can’t comprehend how it came to be—how they got to that point, to Jongdae exposing every single of Baekhyun’s most dreadful fears and Baekhyun being so utterly shocked at just how true they sounded, and yet unheard of.

It’s like meeting a ghost for the first time; scary at first, before the familiarity settles in his bones.

Sadness is bitter on Baekhyun’s tongue; he isn’t used to the taste.

Yixing grabs his arm, yanking him so that they face each other. “Baekhyun, here,” he says, before wrapping his arms around him.

But Baekhyun can’t have any of that at the moment, can’t be touched nor talked to; he wants to scream and there’s something buzzing up to the tip of his fingers that is driving him slowly insane.

He tries to push Yixing away, but Yixing doesn’t relent, instead tightening his hold on Baekhyun. “Let go of me.”

“Only if you promise to sleep,” Yixing says. “And not blame yourself for anything.”

“Yixing, I’m sorry but you have no idea what you’re talking about—”

“I might not, but please promise me this.”

“I can’t.”

Yixing breathes deeply. “Then I won’t let go.”

It takes Baekhyun around ten minutes, stuck in an embrace somewhere in between suffocating and grounding, before surrendering to Yixing. He promises to sleep, and even if he ends up lying awake in bed instead, it seems to satisfy Yixing, so he doesn’t say anything.

***

“He was right, you know,” Baekhyun whispers. “Jongdae. He was right.”

He’s lying down on his bed on the floor, limbs spread on the blankets. He’s still wearing his clothes from earlier; he hasn’t done anything but navigate between sleep and waking up since then. It’s dark now outside, and Baekhyun can see the moon leaving its faint glow on Yixing’s profile, who’s sitting by the window, staring out towards the sky.

Baekhyun’s head is filled with yelled words, playing over and over, and he’s pretty much picked apart each of them in his mind to the point where they meant nothing. However, as soon as he tries to stop thinking, it all comes back rushing to him, vivid and clear, and he hates it.

“I know he was,” Yixing says softly. “I noticed, too. I didn’t know much; I still don’t know many things. But I noticed.”

“What the fuck,” Baekhyun mutters. He closes his eyes, breathes deeply. This summer feels like the longest he’s ever gone through; everything seems to be against him, playing to try and get the best of him in the most torturous ways.

“Baekhyun-ah,” Yixing starts again, “why are you so scared?”

The question hangs between them. Baekhyun doesn’t want to answer, because he wouldn’t know what to say, but he doesn’t want to keep Yixing guessing, because he’s had enough of that himself. “I don’t know.”

“I think you know,” continues Yixing. “Being scared is easy. It’s tough, it is—but it’s easier than to risk losing anything, right? It’s scary to keep going, so it’s easier to just wish about before. Even though you remain afraid.”

When Baekhyun stays silent, limbs frozen and chest heaving, Yixing carries on, voice soft, not accusatory like Jongdae’s was. “You should let go, Baekhyun. There’s no use being afraid—it’s so exhausting; you know? Your country is at war, has been since you’ve been born. You’ve been thrown into it, and you came back with scars, I suppose. Anyone would. Jongdae and Minseok probably did, too. I did as well, in China. Everyone does. But you have to keep going. Being so scared keeps you from doing that. And another thing,” Yixing coaxes gently. Baekhyun still has his eyes closed. “Don’t be afraid of me.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” retorts Baekhyun.

“Don’t be afraid of what I might be… to you,” Yixing amends, and Baekhyun understands. “You’ll only hurt yourself more that way.”

Baekhyun has grown, over the years, to hate silences, and as another fills the room, he feels dread pile up in his gut and he sighs to break it. “Come here,” he asks. “Let’s sleep.”

When Yixing joins him, they end up tangled in each other just like the night before, and Baekhyun sighs. He feels some of the tension pulling at his muscles ease a little as Yixing wraps his arm loosely around his waist.

He’s very conscious of the meaning of this, and it bothers him less and less.

“Baekhyunnie,” Yixing murmurs from behind him. When Baekhyun makes a small hum to indicate he’s listening, Yixing continues. “Remember that song you sang in the fields? The first time we worked there, together.”

Baekhyun remembers. The sun was high up in the sky, and the four of them were happier and way less burdened than they were now. Baekhyun had chosen to sing _Arirang_ because he liked the song, not really for its lyrics.

If he were to do it again, the song would hold a totally different meaning.

“Do you want me to sing it again?”

“Only if you want to.”

There’s something funny in Baekhyun’s throat, but he starts singing with a whisper nonetheless. He closes his eyes as he does so, and feels Yixing settle behind him.

_Arirang, Arirang, Arariyo,_

_Crossing over Arirang Pass._

_The one who abandoned me,_

_Shall not walk even ten li before their feet hurt._

Baekhyun’s voice sounds sad, so sad, even to him. Singing makes his heart fill with something, though, something good and healing, so he continues.

_Arirang, Arirang, Arariyo,_

_Crossing over Arirang Pass._

_Just as there are many stars in the clear sky,_

_There are also many dreams in our heart._

Baekhyun stops there again, doesn’t go any further into the song, because he can hear that Yixing’s breathing has evened out and he’s most certainly asleep by now. With a final sigh, Baekhyun does the same, and his sleep is undisturbed, this time.

***

Baekhyun doesn’t expect to see Jongdae any time soon. Especially not the following morning, barging in his bedroom like he’s done countless times before, only to stop short at the entrance at the scene before him.

“Oh. Um, I—my bad. I’ll wait outside. Yeah. Shit, fuck, sorry, I—”

The thing is, Yixing and Baekhyun are still somewhat half-asleep, and Yixing has his arms around Baekhyun’s waist just like the night before and the sheets do very little to cover just how much of _them_ are touching.

At the sound of Jongdae’s voice, Baekhyun’s eyes snap open, adrenaline kicking in as he scrambles furiously away from Yixing’s arms as fast as possible.

“Jongdae!” he exclaims, his voice still raspy from sleep. “Um—hi, it’s fine, we weren’t—we just… Yeah.”

“Of course, I mean it’s fine if you were…” starts Jongdae, before he realizes what he’s saying as Baekhyun’s eyes grow wider at the implications. “No! Not that you had to be—fuck, anyway, I’ll shut up now.”

A snort next to him makes Baekhyun turn, and he watches as a small smile appears on Yixing’s face. He’s still on the bed, eyes closed and face squished on the pillow, but he seems to be awake enough to have heard Jongdae’s rambling.

“Morning, Jongdae,” his tiny sleepy voice murmurs, seemingly unbothered, and Baekhyun pursues his lips.

This is not how he imagined this morning—or any morning, ever—to go.

“Uh, yeah, good morning to you too,” Jongdae says. “I’ll wait for Baekhyun outside.”

“Nah,” Yixing yawns. “I’ll get up now. Leave you two to talk out your worries. I should visit Minseok-hyung, too.”

Baekhyun is more than thankful for Yixing, who greets them with a wide, sleepy smile before he picks up a change of clothes and exits the room silently. However, the bed feels empty without him now, but most of all, the room is now filled with heavy implications of things that have to be said, should be said.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Baekhyun decides to say. “That’s not how it is.”

“I’m not thinking anything,” Jongdae replies. His eyes are darting everywhere around the room frantically, before settling on Baekhyun. Even then, they seem restless, like he would rather look away and is forcing himself not to. “And even if I were, I told you it was all right. Weird, a bit, but I don’t mind.”

Baekhyun spreads his legs across the floor, his toes pointing. He looks away from Jongdae when he asks, “So what is it you’re here for?”

“To talk,” Jongdae sighs. Baekhyun listens as Jongdae comes closer, sitting next to Baekhyun and swinging an arm over his shoulders. The embrace is nothing like Yixing’s, Baekhyun notes; this is familiar and brotherly and not encompassing and warm like Baekhyun is used to with Yixing. “Yesterday was a mess, wasn’t it?”

Baekhyun huffs a small laugh. “Something like that.” He pushes further into Jongdae’s arm. “Maybe if we had talked about this sooner, it wouldn’t have turned out like this.”

“I didn’t know how to,” Jongdae explains, and his tone is serious, and maybe a little sad. “You’re my best friend, Baekhyun. And I know we can tell each other everything, right? But this—I couldn’t find a way to tell you. I couldn’t find a way to show you that I was worried, that maybe the fact that we didn’t see things the same way was a problem.”

“Is it really a problem? I think… I think you’re more right than I am, Jongdae,” Baekhyun says. “Everything that’s happened, it’s changed me a lot. But I should stop thinking about it, right? I shouldn’t be thinking about it all the time.”

“That’s not it, Baekhyunnie,” Jongdae says. “I think about the war, too. How could I not? But I also think about moving on. And you should, too.”

“I know. I know that now, I think.”

“Let me guess. Yixing talked some sense into you, didn’t he?”

Baekhyun stops. Words play again in his head.

_You’ve seemed and looked empty up until Yixing came around._

It’s easy to see the truth in Jongdae’s words. Too easy.

“I guess he did,” Baekhyun replies.

“He’s good to you,” Jongdae says. “I like him.”

“Halmeoni said something similar, not long ago,” Baekhyun smiles.

“Always right, she is,” Jongdae says with a faux air of reverence that makes Baekhyun laugh.

They don’t need to say much to forgive each other—the few words they’ve just spoken shows more understanding than anything else they could ever share.

“How’s hyung?” Baekhyun then says.

A long sigh escapes Jongdae. “Better. Well, as better as he can get, anyway. But… I told you, yesterday. There’s nothing keeping him here anymore. I think he’s already planning to leave, this upcoming month if not the next.”

“Already?”

“What else does he have to do?” Jongdae tilts his head to rest it on Baekhyun’s for a moment, before squeezing his shoulders and letting go completely. Baekhyun doesn’t miss the quick smile he sends his way, and it’s reassuring. “Baekhyun, maybe we should all go.”

Time stops and Baekhyun furrows his eyebrows, unsure of what he’s heard.

“What?” It seems as though lately, Baekhyun has been asking that a lot. He barely recognizes himself, too. “How would we even do that?”

“I mean—you can always think about it. But… wouldn’t it be better? If we were to move to Seoul. It’s the capital, and it’s not even far from here. I can find a bartending position easily; I can just ask around at the house we usually stay at, or something. Starting from there, we could build something, you know? We’d be closer to the action, too, and—”

“I’m not moving to Seoul to get involved in any political drama, Jongdae.” That much was clear, Baekhyun is not one to meddle into situations that were far greater than him, not anymore.

Not when it didn’t involve him personally, anyway.

Jongdae’s jaw tightens slightly, but he shrugs it off and rolls his eyes. “Fine, whatever. But honestly, think about it. You’re incredibly smart and you can do practically anything, Baekhyun. With Minseok, you’ll find a job in no time, Yixing too… I think anything would be better than to be stuck here. Seoul is full of possibilities, you know?”

Baekhyun has history with Seoul, now. A night out in Seoul, in the arms of a familiar stranger; back then, it did seem full of possibilities, of an imaginary future holding the hand of a man that means more to him than he himself can imagine, walking those streets as if they were part of the kingdom they momentarily shared.

But in the real world, Baekhyun isn’t sure about the opportunities the capital can provide. He has a feeling it’s only full of empty promises, but it’s not like the life in the village is as fulfilling as he’d like it to be.

Yixing and Jongdae are right—Baekhyun is afraid, so afraid. But again, maybe he should just swallow it all down, and take a leap of faith.

Except… “I can’t leave halmeoni,” Baekhyun realizes. He cannot leave his grandmother alone, not on a farm like theirs, with no one to help or care after her.

Jongdae seems to slowly understand as well. “You can always come and visit anytime, you know. It’s not that far.”

“You know that’s not what I worry about.”

“How about you talk to her about it first? Give yourself a chance, Baekhyun. Give this—us—a chance, all of us.”

In a way, it reminds of what Yixing had told him, the night before.

_Don’t be afraid of me. Don’t be afraid of what I might be… to you._

Maybe, also, Baekhyun shouldn’t be afraid of leaving, of taking risks; isn’t that what this is all about, all of it?

“Okay,” is what he finally says. “Okay, yeah. I’ll do that.”

The smile Jongdae gives him is confident, encouraging, and hopeful, in a way. “We’ll be alright, Baekhyunnie. I promise.”

***

Things start moving rather fast, after that. It’s as though while the first half of the summer seemed to have been slowed down immensely, following that day, the pace picks up amazingly and Baekhyun has trouble keeping up with time.

He’s a little taken aback, when he sits down with his grandmother to deliver the news of his departure. Instead of asking him why, or asking him anything, really, she only smiles, tears welling up in her eyes, her lips shaking as she tells him how proud she is of him.

Baekhyun doesn’t understand what she means, or what she’s saying; when he asks her, “What about you, halmeoni?” she only continues smiling, shaking her head as to say, “Don’t worry about me.”

It won’t be easy, but no one said it would ever be. Baekhyun knows that.

Still, the four of them decide to leave right after Chuseok, in September. Anyway, August keeps them busy, what with getting the fields slowly ready for harvest, and planning their departure carefully.

Somehow, the prospect of something coming—something on the way, something to plan and put together, a project—breathes a renewed sense of life into Baekhyun he hadn’t exactly realized was gone. When August rolls around, he feels a little more like himself, and it’s reassuring.

It takes longer for Minseok to get used to not having a home. In fact, Baekhyun isn’t sure he’ll ever get over losing the guesthouse. Minseok does get progressively better, though. It works a little like it does with Baekhyun; it’s as though the thought of rebuilding his future in the city gives him enough of a drive to keep moving forward and fill in some of the empty space inside of him. When Baekhyun catches him laugh for the first time in days at some joke Jongdae cracks one evening, that’s when he tells himself, they’ll be okay, all of them.

For now, they only plan on staying at the guesthouse they usually stop by whenever Jongdae has business in Seoul. The host, a kind man of about their age named Kim Junmyeon, agrees to lend them two rooms for an undetermined length of time at a discounted rate, which is an amazing deal, considering their situation. Baekhyun doesn’t remember much of Kim Junmyeon, but he does remember a nice, crinkled smile, and attentive eyes, so he isn’t too worried. He’ll trust Jongdae on this.

It still surprises Baekhyun a little, how willing Yixing was to come with. Then again, it’s not as if Yixing had any ties of any sorts to anything anymore. Sometimes, Baekhyun wonders just how early Yixing has had to learn living like this, like a vagabond, not settling for something for too long because of the knowledge that nothing lasts forever, and that nothing could ever compare to the home he’s lost. It’s sad to think about, and it’s somehow even sadder to Baekhyun, as he watches Yixing help prepare and just do everything wholeheartedly and earnestly, not an ounce of any sour feeling tainting his face.

It’s admirable, really. Baekhyun admires Yixing, his strength, and draws from it as much as he can.

Hope slowly blooms in Baekhyun, and he sees it in his friends’ eyes as well. They will be okay, they will.

 

 

***

 

 

***

_Je n'ai jamais été de ce peuple-ci ; je n'ai jamais été chrétien, je suis de la race qui chantait dans le supplice._

***

The first day of Chuseok, in 1948, falls on September 16th.

The entire week before is spent preparing the fields for harvest, set to take place the following week of the holiday. It’s a little odd, thinking that Baekhyun won’t take part in harvesting time this year; he had insisted on staying to at least help start the process, but his grandmother had strongly refused.

“You have other things to do,” she had said. “A lifetime to build.”

Despite her speaking in enigmas he couldn’t bother deciphering, he had ceded, still promising to come visit as soon as they were settled enough in the city. It was the least he could do.

Sometime during the first week, Baekhyun and Yixing are shooed away from the house, a list of ingredients carefully printed in Baekhyun’s grandmother’s handwriting hanging at the tips of Baekhyun’s fingers. Chuseok called for his grandmother’s best gastronomy, and seemingly, Baekhyun and Yixing have been put on grocery duty.

The market is swarmed with people from all parts of the village, buying various ingredients for the holiday meals awaiting to be prepared. Arrivals from Seoul are still in their trucks, from where people are constantly and hastily picking up crates of goods. The entire place is hectic and moving at an incredible speed that is only ever characteristic of Chuseok, Baekhyun finds.

It takes the two of them an uncharacteristically long time to obtain everything on the list. Despite that, Baekhyun isn’t too bothered; even though the sun is beating down on them, warming up his clothes in a slightly uncomfortable way, Yixing’s presence is far less unpleasant. It’s as though they’ve slowly started picking up the rhythm they had set, months ago, and are going from there, slowly.

Baekhyun is grateful; for the jokes, the easy exchanges, but also the underlying support Yixing offers him, and the slight touches. They’re not as frequent as they used to be, but Baekhyun has a feeling they _mean_ more, even when Yixing is only resting a hand at the small of his back to balance him when he’s about to trip, and Baekhyun is slowly getting accustomed to the warmth in his limbs when it happens, and how good it feels, how it encompasses him.

That night, he faces Yixing in bed, watching as sleep starts to set onto him, eyelids getting heavier and breaths getting slower, calmer. Baekhyun watches it all, observes the peace slowly spreading through Yixing’s features, detailing every pale freckle of his cheeks and every line that shape his face. As he does so, he lets himself feel the overwhelming desire to reach out and touch, feel Yixing under his fingers, and although he restrains himself from doing so, there’s a promise he makes to himself.

_I will let myself have it all._

***

The next morning finds them standing and facing each other, as Baekhyun carefully covers Yixing’s shoulders with the most expensive fabrics they own. The silk is soft under his hands, and Yixing’s body underneath is firm and warm.

“So what are we doing, exactly?” Yixing asks, eyes curious and bright.

“Chuseok,” Baekhyun explains while fixing Yixing’s outfit, “is a holiday of respect of our ancestors. It’s also a harvest festival of sorts, which is why we hold it before harvesting the fields. But the ancestors thing is important—it has to do with what we’re doing today.”

“Really?” Raised eyebrows, a small pout of the lips, and a slight tilt of the head. Baekhyun has already catalogued every single of Yixing’s expressions, and this one might be his favourite.

“On the morning of Chuseok—today, basically—we proceed with what’s called _Charye_. It’s a memorial service, and we ought to look good, yeah? Hence the pretty clothes. But _Charye_ revolves a lot around the food. That’s how we honour our ancestors.”

“By cooking them goods?” Yixing smiles. A dimple appears, and Baekhyun smiles back.

“Pretty much,” Baekhyun replies. “The belief that people’s souls don’t exactly vanish after death leads us to believe that, by returning the favours they give us—like protection and love—through meals, we can ensure that they keep looking out for us, in a way. It’s a mutual thing.”

“Uh,” Yixing lets out. “That’s interesting, actually.”

Baekhyun only hums, pressing his hands down on the lapels of the _hanbok_ Yixing is wearing. “There. All done.”

Yixing takes a step back, extending his arms and raising expectant eyes to Baekhyun. “How do I look?” He twirls, making the turquoise blue fabric flow gently all around him.

 _Stunning_ , Baekhyun wants to say, but doesn’t. This time however, when he answers, he tries not to shy away from the truth. “Very handsome, I would say.”

Apparently, that also means foregoing subtlety completely.

When Yixing stops, the smile he offers is blinding, almost. “Handsome?”

Baekhyun nods. “Yes. Don’t get too full of yourself.”

“Byun Baekhyun-ssi, you’ve just called me handsome!” Yixing singsongs, approaching Baekhyun with small, dancing steps, and Baekhyun tries his very best to move away but it’s as though he’s being pulled in by Yixing’s voice, Yixing’s smile, his aura, everything.

“I should have known you’d tease me for it,” Baekhyun mumbles, but he fails to suppress the grin on his own face.

Then something happens—a quick peck on his cheek, gone as soon as it’s there, but Baekhyun feels it still, like a burning mark on his skin.

When he chases after Yixing with his eyes, he finds him smiling hopefully, as if the implications of his gesture are plain obvious to him, but he’s still holding on to a ‘maybe’ that speaks of ‘yes, okay.’

Baekhyun is ready to give it to him, all of it.

So he just smiles broader, showing his teeth, and Yixing reciprocates, his entire face lighting up as he does so, and it takes all of Baekhyun’s willpower not to kiss him, properly, right then and there.

“Come on,” he says instead, reaching for Yixing’s hand with his own. Their fingers interlace almost instantly, and Baekhyun squeezes slightly. “They’re waiting for us, over there.”

The service goes smoothly. Jongdae and Minseok join them, and Baekhyun’s grandmother directs most of it. Yixing observes with intent, eyes darting out to every corner of the room, looking closely as the ceremony happens before him. Baekhyun catches questions in his eyes, and he promises himself to answer them, when they’re alone.

They share a meal, and Baekhyun’s grandmother rolls her eyes when Jongdae produces a bottle of soju from under the long drapes of his clothes, but the small grin on her lips betrays her. They drink moderately due to the early hour, but it’s still comfortable, and the alcohol courses in their veins warmly. Yixing nearly devours all the _songpyeon_ , making appreciative noises at every bite he takes. It makes Minseok snort in his food and Baekhyun giggle.

The atmosphere is not too festive to be overwhelming; it’s just perfect, even with a new guest at their table. Anyway, Baekhyun has a feeling Yixing’s presence only serves to enhance everyone’s mood.

In the afternoon, Jongdae and Minseok leave while Baekhyun and his grandmother walk their way far behind the fields, where the soil is wild with herbs and weeds. When Baekhyun had asked Yixing to come with, he took a long moment before shaking his head no, assuring him he would be fine on his own at the house, and that this wasn’t something that concerned him, anyway.

In reality, Yixing was right, but Baekhyun had hoped for him to come—at least to have a hand to hold, once they get there.

When they stop walking, two pale gray graves stare back at them from the ground. The stone has now gotten old with time—nearly twenty years, or more; how old is Baekhyun, again?—but the names are still there, clear for the both of them to see.

This is Baekhyun’s least favourite part, because every year, his grandmother ends up crying even just a little, and it always breaks his heart, because she’s been through enough and there’s no need to reminisce, he believes. She always insists on coming, though. Always. He understands.

It’s a little odd, because Baekhyun has never really met his parents; they died when he was a child, both from a disease that had miraculously spared him and his brother. Yet, as he sits on the ground next to them, he feels as though he’s known them all his life—even though he doesn’t come by often, Chuseok being one of the very few occurrences, Baekhyun always makes a point to talk to them, about nothing and everything, because they’re still his parents, after all.

This year, he tells them about this man he met, a few months ago; like an odd miracle at the dawn of a chaos he hadn’t seen coming then. Baekhyun smiles as he tells the story, and fails to notice the smile his grandmother gives him, from behind, even through the screen of tears shielding her eyes.

***

The evening is always, _always_ the best part.

Jongdae doesn’t open the tavern, but he still lets Minseok and Baekhyun in—and Yixing too, this year. Behind the counter, Jongdae plays bartender, cracking awful jokes and imitating accents and some people they know that has the four of them crying tears of laughter; it almost makes him stop his performance, but the outrageous hollering done by his friends keeps him going.

The radio is on, loud music playing loudly, and sometimes, when they’re lucky, they can catch the signal of the American bases nearby that play upbeat, catchy Western music.

Alcohol flows profusely, almost shamefully so, but it’s not like they get occasions like these often—holidays are meant to be celebrated, right? Baekhyun is sure that his ancestors definitely approve of a bottle of soju or three on a night like this one.

Minseok asks him to sing something, when they’ve each had about an entire bottle, and Baekhyun agrees easily, mostly because he knows no one is sober enough to pay attention to him. He giggles at the way his voice sometimes cracks or goes higher than he intends too, and he catches sight of Yixing doing the same, lips blood red and glistening from the drinks.

It almost makes him choke on his spit on the spot. Something tight lodges itself in him, but liquor still keeps him dazed enough to ignore it, for now. Baekhyun just keeps singing, going easily when Minseok envelops an arm around his shoulders, and if he purposely messes up some of the English words, just to hear Yixing’s laugh ring louder, no one can tell.

At some point, Jongdae jumps clumsily over the counter to land on the wood with a loud thud, before he stands up proudly.

“Gentlemen!” he shouts in the vast space. His voice is already loud enough as it is, but the echo in the room makes it sound majestic, even. Or maybe Baekhyun’s really drunk. “Soon, we are meant to embark on a journey—the biggest journey of our lives!”

“Now’s not the time, Jongdae,” Minseok retorts before bringing the bottle to his lips. Minseok is a bit of a grumpy drunk, which is a little hilarious, considering how his round cheeks get pink and his eyes seem bigger with the alcohol. He really just looks like a flustered hamster, Baekhyun thinks. Not grumpy at all.

“Hyung,” Jongdae whines, “come on, let me talk! It’s gonna be _awesome_ , guys, like… It’s the city! Big, grandiose, living in almost anonymity. The rest of our lives, we can do what we want! There’s so much we can accomplish—”

“Not the fucking time!” Minseok yells, but it’s with a smile on his face, and Baekhyun really thinks he looks like a hamster. Or a kitten.

When he gets up with grabby hands, dangerously aiming for Jongdae’s throat, Jongdae’s eyes widen in a ridiculously comical manner, and he almost falls head first onto the floor as he scrambles nervously out of his seat and out of Minseok’s reach.

Baekhyun is laughing, laughing until he cannot breathe nor see clearly, and he feels Yixing next to him do the same, the loud noise of his laugh revitalizing to Baekhyun’s ears. It’s like a melody, another melody Baekhyun can lose himself to, and the thought sends shivers dancing down his spine.

This is truly the best night he’s ever had, in a long, long time.

When they cannot distinguish the difference between late night and early morning, Baekhyun judges it his cue to leave. He mumbles simple greetings, snorts when he only hears Jongdae’s affirmative hum from where he’s nursing his bottle with both of his hands. Minseok is already asleep, face drooling on the cold counter under him.

He grabs Yixing’s wrist without really thinking of doing it, but once he realizes their hands are intertwined, fingers interlaced, Baekhyun doesn’t let go. He just squeezes gently, and is utterly pleased when Yixing reciprocates.

“How was today?” he asks. When Baekhyun looks up, the moon is watching over them, and he feels a little like they’re sharing a secret, the moon and him.

“I don’t know,” Yixing says, “but you know when you’re so, so happy it’s almost a little scary? It’s a bit like that.” He pouts. “But, in a good way. I’m not scared. I’m happy. Today made me happy.”

Baekhyun grins. “Ah, I see. I’m happy too.”

“Happy, happy, happy,” Yixing sings. “Together.”

“Together?”

Yixing nods vigorously, and Baekhyun wonders how he does it, with the alcohol slowing down his movements. “Together!” Yixing repeats. “That’s okay, isn’t it?”

“It’s okay, yeah,” Baekhyun replies.

“We’re okay, right?” Yixing asks, and Baekhyun’s heart skips a beat. And another.

Maybe it’s the alcohol speaking, or something else entirely, but Baekhyun finds himself faced with the same burning want he had felt, in the fields back in June, with Yixing under him, the both of them panting loudly in the silence that had surrounded them.

It's sharp and powerful in a way Baekhyun has never experienced before. It almost unbalances him a little, if it weren’t for Yixing’s grounding hand in his own, or the moon in his line of sight.

He presses his own hand harder against Yixing’s, as he says, “We’re okay. We’re okay, now.”

Baekhyun hears Yixing let out a breath, but it’s heavy and maybe even a little heady, to Baekhyun; not because of the scent of alcohol, but because of something else, entirely.

And so, because it’s all too much, and because he feels brave, he stops on the road leading to the house, and takes a step towards Yixing.

Yixing stops as well, looking at Baekhyun straight on, and Baekhyun feels ridiculously small and immensely big at the same time. He wants to find refuge in Yixing’s arms just as much as he feels like he’s the king of the entire world, by his side.

A soft, pink flush spreads across Yixing’s cheeks, as he seemingly waits for Baekhyun to speak. His skin must be so warm to the touch.

It’s a little too much.

Baekhyun takes a deep breath, lets go of Yixing’s hand. “Yixing,” he says.

“Baekhyun?”

A grin breaks over Baekhyun’s face. “Race you.”

Then, he takes off running, covering the distance separating them from the house in record time. Behind him, he hears the offended yells of disbelief coming from his friend, and it only makes Baekhyun smile even broader.

Yixing doesn’t take long to catch up, though, and soon, Baekhyun finds himself caught by his arms from behind.

“Don’t ever run away from me like this!” Yixing mock-screams in his ear. “Bloody tease, you are.”

“A tease?” Baekhyun inquires. “Where did you ever get the impression I was a tease?”

When Yixing’s arms relax around him, his hands coming to settle on Baekhyun’s hips, the younger feels his breath stutter. The tip of Yixing’s nose is dragging patters across the skin of his neck, near his nape, and his breathing tickles slightly.

Baekhyun shivers, and takes a step back, moving closer into Yixing’s embrace, trying to feel his heat by getting as near to him as possible.

He wants to feel it, wants a taste of it. Wants it all, will let himself have it all.

The alcohol helps, definitely, but this is something Baekhyun absolutely wants—has wanted for months, in fact. It has gotten easier to live with it, lately, and right now, Baekhyun is at ease. He doesn’t want to think about tomorrow, or about a few days from now; there’s only here and now, Yixing’s hands pressing on each side of him, the touch of his lips against the skin of his neck that’s almost absent but that Baekhyun still somewhat feels.

“Baekhyunnie,” Yixing whispers behind him, and Baekhyun’s knees almost give way.

“Inside, let’s go,” Baekhyun orders instead, and there’s something sparking in his guts when he feels Yixing guide him, hands firm on his hips.

Once they make it to the bedroom, Baekhyun turns around in Yixing’s arms, closing the door behind him. He backs up until Yixing’s back hits the wall.

Yixing is looking at him with hooded eyes, but they’re still sharp and more sober than they had been, back at the tavern. There’s expectation in them, but also patience, a lot of patience, and Baekhyun is grateful.

However, it’s the overwhelming lust that draws Baekhyun in, and pushes him to slowly drag his hands over Yixing’s chest. He feels the corners of his own lips lift up as Yixing shudders under his touch.

As he had expected, Yixing is warm, so warm, under his hands. His hands look good on Yixing, Baekhyun also thinks. Thin and delicate over warm skin, even through the fabric of his clothes.

When Baekhyun turns his head to the side, and sees the blue _hanbok_ Yixing had worn that morning, there’s a wave of adoration that hits him, strong and fierce. He doesn’t understand why he feels it now, but he doesn’t question why it’s there, because that, he knows.

As much as it is completely insane to admit, Baekhyun might like, appreciate, love Yixing a little more than anyone else he’s ever met.

When he turns back, he notices it in the way Yixing’s eyes send dizzy waves through his entire body just with a look, or with how Baekhyun desperately wants to get closer.

Something keeps him from doing that, so he speaks. “Yixing, remember, when I asked you… about kissing you?”

Yixing nods, nods again, doesn’t speak, because he keeps licking his lips, over and over again, and their bright red shade are slowly driving Baekhyun mad.

“If I ask you now,” Baekhyun says, “will you let me?”

“Yes,” Yixing breathes out immediately, “yes, God, Baekhyun, just _kiss_ me already—”

And so Baekhyun does, their lips pressing not unlike they had, months ago. This feels as familiar as it feels brand new all over again, making Baekhyun almost moan too soon.

Their mouths fit so, so perfectly, is the thing. Baekhyun chases after Yixing’s lips constantly, biting the plump flesh with his teeth, and relishes in the way he can feel Yixing exhale against his mouth, irregular breaths coming out of him.

It’s addicting, finding out just how much Baekhyun can affect Yixing, just like he knows Yixing affects him, in all the ways possible.

Baekhyun is kissing Yixing with everything that he has, with all the worries and doubts he’s accumulated as well as the answers he’s found for himself, too. Yixing kisses back fervently, as if he’s swallowing everything Baekhyun has to offer, with a promise of more, greater, better.

Their tongues slide against each other, and it’s when Baekhyun feels Yixing’s hands tighten around his hips that a whimper finally escapes his throat. Yixing shifts against him, and suddenly they’re touching everywhere, from their lips to their chests to their legs, and it’s a little awkward standing up like this against the wall but Baekhyun really cannot stop _kissing_ Yixing.

He does need to breathe, though, so he detaches himself momentarily.

“Shit,” Yixing says in the small space between them. “Baekhyun, oh my God.”

“Wasn’t so bad, was it?” Baekhyun asks, because he feels brave, suddenly, brave and invincible and incredibly turned on, maybe.

Yixing laughs at him, but it’s cut off by a small groan, at the back of his throat. “Not bad at all, no,” he whispers. His voice is almost muted, when he speaks like that, but Baekhyun can still hear it, and he wants to hear it louder, saying his name like that over and over again; moaning and screaming and murmuring, everything.

“Good,” Baekhyun says, and because he feels brave, he adds, “because I sort of want more, too.”

Yixing stops, but not entirely; he fixes Baekhyun with a suddenly serious look. “More? Are you sure?”

Baekhyun sobers up really quick, but the want is still coursing through him entirely, and he’s still burning with it. He wants this, he needs Yixing to want this, too. “I am, yeah. If you are, too.”

The way Yixing furrows his eyebrows is so enticing, Baekhyun almost moans, again. “Fuck, yes, Baekhyun, yes,” Yixing chants, before pushing him away.

Yixing’s hold on Baekhyun remains, though, and they find themselves on the bed moments later, Baekhyun with his back on the floor, Yixing hovering over him. There’s something about being spread out like this, open and vulnerable and trusting, that makes something burn so bright in him; it’s overwhelming, and Baekhyun never wants it to stop.

The way Yixing is looking at him is full of reverence, and Baekhyun blushes with it, embarrassingly so. “Quit looking at me like this,” he asks, but his voice comes out shy, and it makes Yixing smile that dimpled grin of his.

“I can’t,” Yixing says simply, sincere. “Just look at you…”

When Yixing touches him, Baekhyun curls into it, letting Yixing’s hands roam his entire body, his fingers expertly unbuttoning his shirt.

“Yours, too,” Baekhyun asks when his torso is bare. “Off, please.”

Sitting on his heels, Yixing takes off his shirt while Baekhyun watches. Baekhyun has developed a habit of watching Yixing do all sorts of things, but this one might be his favourite so far. He can’t help but admire the way Yixing’s skin stretches over his muscles, slightly built yet firm, the way his hair is falling over his forehead, much longer now than it had been, some evening in April.

When Yixing bends back down, Baekhyun doesn’t waste any time before slotting their mouths back together, and he doesn’t restrain himself from moaning into the kiss, this time. Yixing presses against him, and the touch of skin against skin stuns Baekhyun—it’s so warm, so much; it’s better than everything he’s ever had nor imagined before.

Yixing mustn’t be real, for him to be like this, for him to turn Baekhyun into the mess that he is now. How could it be?

Baekhyun lets his hands run over all the skin he can find, from Yixing’s toned arms to the smooth skin of his shoulders, down to his chest, before moving back on his spine and settling on his shoulder blades. He pulls Yixing closer, and Yixing goes easily. Baekhyun loves the little sounds Yixing lets out, from time to time; tiny little whimpers that send more and more sparks setting off in Baekhyun’s insides.

“How do you feel?” Yixing manages to ask against his lips.

“Good,” Baekhyun answers, “so good. I don’t—I didn’t know I could feel this good.”

“Glad—I’m glad,” Yixing says. “I’m glad I can make you feel this way.”

Baekhyun stops.

He stops altogether, dropping his hands from Yixing’s shoulders, instead moving them to the sides of his neck, forcing him to pull away and look at him.

“Yixing, I’m not—I don’t want this to be about you making me feel good. This… I want this to be about us, yeah? _Us_. You and me. Yeah?”

A funny look goes across Yixing’s features, but it turns into a fond smile, and Baekhyun is reassured. “You and me, huh?”

“Yeah.” Yes, more than anything.

“I knew that, Baekhyun,” Yixing replies then. “But… it’s nice. To hear you say it.”

Baekhyun isn’t sure what to reply to that so he only nods, then demands, “Now go on, kiss me again.”

And so Yixing does, and it’s beautiful.

When Baekhyun asks, between two kisses, “Now touch me, please,” Yixing obeys, and Baekhyun can’t breathe, and it’s beautiful.

Yixing’s hand is going down his torso, nearing the hem of his pants. Baekhyun brings his hands in Yixing’s hair, fingers getting lost in the strands that he grips and pulls at slightly. He hears Yixing hisses at the touch, and so he does it again, sharper this time.

“Baekhyun,” Yixing says, tone warning but also heavy with lust, and Baekhyun curls into him, hands smoothing the hair on Yixing’s head.

That’s when Yixing shoves his hand in his pants, suddenly, and Baekhyun gasps at the sudden touch.

He’s burning. He’s desperately burning, from within and on the outside, his skin letting off a heat he can himself feel everywhere all over his body. Baekhyun loves it, all of it—he moves his hips up to meet Yixing’s hand, just when Yixing curls his fingers over the shape of his cock through his underwear.

Baekhyun lets his head fall back, his eyes closing and eyebrows furrowing. “Ah, shit,” he hears himself say. “Yixing, I…”

His thoughts are incoherent, but there’s one thing he knows—Yixing’s hand on him is all he’s ever wanted, more than anything he’s ever had before, and it feels more fulfilling than anything this world could ever provide him.

Baekhyun still craves for more, because the scorching hot fire in his stomach isn’t fading. It only burns brighter, as if anticipating more, better, greater.

“Good?” Yixing asks against his lips. His hand is stroking gently, and Baekhyun feels himself getting harder at the constant touch.

He nods furiously at Yixing’s question. “Keep going, yes.”

At the confirmation, Yixing immediately shoves Baekhyun’s pants and underwear to his knees, and Baekhyun swears under his breath. He starts kicking off his clothes, and they find themselves on the floor in a matter of seconds.

He’s completely naked now, and this is the most defenceless he’s ever felt. Baekhyun is literally offering himself to Yixing—in more ways than one, which is the most terrifying thing. It also happens, however, to be the best decision Baekhyun has seemingly made in the longest time.

There’s still a miniscule part of him that is outrageously screaming about how wrong this is, or at least should be. But Baekhyun trusts Yixing with this—and most of all, he decides to trust himself with it, too.

It can’t be wrong, when it feels like this, when Baekhyun feels so much.

He moves to grab at Yixing’s pants, but Yixing shoos his hand away, interlacing their fingers as he brings Baekhyun’s hand next to his face.

Yixing starts kissing him softly, and Baekhyun’s eyes close slowly as they kiss, trying to register every single second of this, every single sensation he’s going through, keeping it locked in his memory. Yixing is pressing into him, his kiss deep, slow, tender, and Baekhyun just lets him have at it, responding as eagerly as he feels.

Then, with a squeeze at Baekhyun’s hand, Yixing moves his free hand to wrap around Baekhyun’s cock. Involuntarily, Baekhyun bucks his hips up, a small noise caught in his throat.

“Easy, easy,” Yixing murmurs. “I won’t do anything silly.”

It’s almost funny, how Yixing seems to think Baekhyun needs reassurance. The thing is, Baekhyun would let Yixing do anything to him—absolutely _anything_ , if he’s guaranteed to feel like this every single time, if not even better.

“Just—God, Yixing, I…” Words are hard to muster, so Baekhyun just pants instead, trying his best not to be too loud.

He feels Yixing smile against his lips, and Baekhyun just knows he’s dimpling, too. “You’re amazing, like this,” Yixing says. “You should see yourself, Baekhyun…”

The praise makes Baekhyun blushes, and he’s about to reply when Yixing twists his fist and the sensation is so addicting and so sudden it catches him by surprise.

Baekhyun gasps. “Again,” he asks, “do it again.”

Yixing obeys, and Baekhyun has to turn his head to stifle a moan in the pillow.

Their mouths are still touching, and they still lock from time to time, but it’s getting messier and messier and they’re not exactly kissing anymore. Yixing is still working his hand around Baekhyun, who’s constantly pushing his hips up, silently begging for more, his entire body feeling more and more restless and so, so hot.

He needs Yixing to touch him, touch him everywhere. He needs, he needs… This is so much, so, so much.

Baekhyun slides a hand behind Yixing’s neck, who shivers violently at the touch. His eyes are dark, darker than they usually are, and Baekhyun is drawn to him.

Using this new leverage, he levels their heads together, foreheads and the tips of their noses touching. “You…” he starts, “you’re stunningly beautiful, you know that?”

“Right now?” Yixing smirks. “I would hope so.”

“No,” Baekhyun shakes his head, “all the time. It’s insane, you—you drive me insane.” _I can’t think. I can’t think when you’re around._

A peck on the lips. “It’s mutual. Absolutely.” Then, Yixing lets go of his hand, and Baekhyun watches, again.

He watches as Yixing finally, _finally_ takes off his own pants, and Baekhyun whines softly when he sees Yixing is just as achingly hard as he is. “Shit,” Baekhyun mutters. “You’re…”

Yixing doesn’t let him finish, but instead, he gives him what he’s silently been asking for—he presses their bodies together, skin to skin touching everywhere they possibly can. They’re both so hot, so warm and radiating heat, and Baekhyun can feel sweat tickling his back and the tip of his hair at his nape.

Then Yixing shifts against him, hips rolling deliciously smooth against his own, cocks brushing and obtaining the friction Baekhyun is craving. He hears Yixing whimper in his ear, a high, delicate sound, and Baekhyun needs to hold onto something, let go of the desire pulling at every single muscle in his body.

His hands latch onto Yixing’s hips, directing and following their movement. Baekhyun finds himself reciprocating, and they’re soon heaving sighs and moans almost in unison, chests touching, Yixing’s head buried in Baekhyun’s neck.

The burn is slow and delectable. Baekhyun never wants it to end, but at the same time, he wants more, he’s so close to gaining more, and the way Yixing is moving above him, against him…

It’s when he feels teeth scratch at the skin between his jaw and neck that the knot in Baekhyun’s stomach eases, a wonderful wave washing through him. His groan is loud and clear in the room as he stills, his orgasm hitting him powerfully as he comes all over his stomach and Yixing’s between them.

“I…” he breathes out, voice high and fragile. “I… Yixing, I…”

The whines Yixing lets out as he relentlessly ruts against Baekhyun grow more insistent before he stops moving as well, a silent moan etched across his features, warmth spreading between them.

They stay still, like this, for a few minutes. Yixing’s breath is slowing down, and he finally rolls over, still making a point to keep an arm around Baekhyun’s waist. He’s still so close, Baekhyun notices. It’s all right—he doesn’t want him to leave, not anytime soon, not now, not ever.

“This,” Baekhyun says in the silence. “We _have_ to try this again.”

Yixing laughs in his ear, a soft, tinkling sound, and Baekhyun smiles at it. “Definitely. And tons of other things, too.”

“Like what?”

Yixing snuggles into him, and they should probably clean up, but there’s still time for that. “Mmh… my mouth around you, how about that? Or the other way around, if you feel brave enough. There’s many things we could do.”

Baekhyun bites his lips. “I’ll look forward to it.”

As he closes his eyes, he hears Yixing murmur against his skin, “You’d better, Baekhyunnie.”

 

 

***

 

 

***

_Farce continuelle ! Mon innocence me ferait pleurer. La vie est la farce à mener par tous._

***

Standing before Baekhyun are aisles of books. With time, they’ve become a familiar sight, as well as a sight of comfort, in a way.

Throughout the last month, Baekhyun knows that he and each of his friends have made various decisions regarding what they were leaving behind—it was inevitable, with having lived their entire life here, not to feel a little remorse about leaving certain things behind. Baekhyun could sense that it was hard Jongdae to leave his business, even with the possibility of coming back at any time. The tavern couldn’t provide him with the opportunities he was hoping Seoul to offer him, but it was still something, to him—something that had been his life for the past years, and the time before that.

Minseok had already lost the guesthouse, but this was his village just like it was his friends’—leaving it wasn’t easy, especially knowing his entire family is resting not far from it, either. The possibility of visiting was always there, though, so Minseok didn’t seem to worry. After all, he was the most eager to leave. It was his decision, at the start.

Baekhyun has to leave the farmhouse, his grandmother, the bookstore. Mr. Lee hadn’t seemed too bothered at the prospect of losing his sole employee, aside from a few tears falling after Baekhyun had announced his departure. Like Baekhyun’s grandmother, Mr. Lee had looked proud, albeit sad, but he looked mostly as if he was hoping for Baekhyun to leave—not to get rid of him, but with the knowledge that this would be best for Baekhyun.

It’s a little odd, to feel as though other people know what’s best for him better than Baekhyun knows himself.

As he sits on the counter for what probably is the last time, he tries to commit every detail of the small shop to memory—the cracked wood of the shelves, the worn out pages of some of the oldest books, the way they turn yellow at the corners, or the way dust dances in the air, suspended and looking like it’s sparkling under the sunlight. He tries to memorize the smell of paper and tea that surrounds the place.

He doesn’t want to forget any of it. Coming back is always an option, but nothing feels certain anymore, so Baekhyun needs to remember.

The feeling of comfort he feels when in the bookstore washes over him once again, but this time, it’s laced with melancholy; the thought of seeing it for the last time leaves a funny taste on his mouth.

He has so many memories here, is the thing. Just like the farmhouse, this shop is part of the home he’s built in this place. At least, the home he thought kept him anchored to this place.

Images of Soojung, her charming smile, and recurrent company flash in his mind. A few, scattered unknown faces also appear to him. Strangers, who had stumbled upon the shop on their way through the village, intrigued by the books and the various titles.

The most striking memory is one of a man in black, hurt and disheveled, bursting through the door like the oddest apparition there could be. A man Baekhyun has gotten to know, learned to love, even though he isn’t sure just how much, yet.

Baekhyun also remembers the last conversation he and Jongdae had shared, that one afternoon, not too long ago. Jongdae had offered him reassurance Baekhyun hadn’t known how to accept back then. Thinking back, it was foolish of him, but fear… Fear makes one oblivious to many things.

The click of the door pulls him out of his thoughts. When he looks up, the familiar figure leaning against the wood makes him smile.

“Saying goodbye?” Yixing says, hands behind his back as he presses his back against the door.

Baekhyun nods. He doesn’t trust himself to say anything; his throat feels funny and he knows Yixing isn’t expecting an answer, either.

Yixing walks to the counter, bringing himself to sit next to Baekhyun. When he throws an arm around Baekhyun’s shoulders, pulling him close and letting Baekhyun’s head fall on his shoulder, Baekhyun is reminded of an afternoon not unlike this one, their positions mirrored and oh so comfortingly familiar.

“It feels weird,” Baekhyun admits. “Leaving. I’m still not sure why I’m doing it.”

“Do you want to, though?” Yixing asks. There’s a slight concern in his voice.

Baekhyun settles further into Yixing’s embrace. Everything seems so much easier, now; he doesn’t think twice when he reaches out just to touch Yixing, in any way possible. He only has to keep an eye for whoever is watching, and right now, there isn’t anyone. “I do, really,” Baekhyun assures Yixing. “It doesn’t make it any less odd.”

Yixing sighs. “I don’t think it’ll ever stop being weird,” he says. There’s the sound of a tiny smile in his voice. “But eventually, the feeling… it’ll become part of your daily life. Things will change, and what you’re feeling right now—it just means they’ve already started changing.”

Baekhyun snorts. “You do say some smart shit, sometimes, you know.”

“Only sometimes?”

“Only sometimes.”

“What do I say, the rest of the time?”

Baekhyun pouts. “Depends. Sometimes it’s… I don’t know. Cute stuff? A lot of the time, it’s ridiculous. Sometimes it’s teasing, and it’s slightly annoying. And sometimes…” Sometimes, it makes Baekhyun want to stay in Yixing’s arms for the longest time, an indescribable feeling taking over him.

“Sometimes, it’s hot,” Yixing replies instead.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“But you thought about it, right?”

 _Yes_. “No,” Baekhyun lies.

Yixing squeezes his shoulders. “Ah, Baekhyunnie. It never gets old, teasing you.”

“Stop it.”

“No. You love it.”

“You _must_ stop that, too.”

“Never.”

Yixing laughs, and Baekhyun only pretends to be put off by it.

***

Of course, things with Yixing were too good. Too smooth. Too comfortable.

Baekhyun should have known he would be too obvious—he’s never been good at being anything but honest—but he had tried, because what else could he have done?

Seemingly, it hadn’t worked.

He should have known he would be too obvious as soon as Jongdae came to him, that one time in the bookstore. Baekhyun should have paid attention at what Jongdae had said— _everything_ Jongdae had said.

Instead, Baekhyun had ignored it, buried it deep in his mind, and didn’t let it resurface.

It all comes back to him, the evening before their departure, on the 20th.

He makes his way to Jongdae’s house, only to find Minseok alone in the room, lying on his back with a book propped on his chest. Bags surround him, scattered on the floor of the room. The imminent departure now feels real, more than ever.

“Hyung, hi,” Baekhyun says from the door. “Have you seen Jongdae around?”

“Drugstore,” Minseok replies without peeking out from his book. “Something about Soojung?”

Baekhyun snorts. “Is he really confessing now? Before leaving?”

“Do you really think he has the guts to confess at all?” At that, Minseok puts his book down, shooting a smirk at Baekhyun.

Baekhyun laughs. “You’re ruthless, hyung.”

“Only realistic. But anyway. Is something up?”

A shake of the head. “Not really, just… Halmeoni made dinner. You guys wanna join?”

A gummy smile. “Absolutely. How about you wait for Jongdae here with me?”

Baekhyun pauses. “Well, I was thinking I would go back and help…”

“Yixing is with halmeoni, isn’t he?” Minseok asks, and… well, he isn’t wrong, but there’s a funny tone to his voice. The feeling that there is another meaning to Minseok’s words comes to Baekhyun again, and makes him fidget where he stands.

Baekhyun nods slowly. “Yeah, he is. He’s giving her a hand, thinking she might need it, so.”

“So you can stay a little longer, yeah? Have a chat with your hyung,” Minseok adds with a wink.

It’s odd, but Baekhyun plays along. “Anything for my hyung,” he says, coming to sit at the foot of the bed.

Minseok sits up, legs under him. “Excited about leaving?”

“Something like that,” Baekhyun answers truthfully. “It’s still… very new. Kind of weird. But also exciting, you know? It means things are changing, or something. Something Yixing said.”

Minseok snorts. “Yixing is waxing poetics now? This kid will never fail to surprise me.”

Baekhyun doesn’t fight the smile that makes its way to his lips. “He’s very… insightful. Since we spend so much time together, we talk a lot, you know? And sometimes he cracks jokes, but a lot of the time, either he asks questions, because that’s just what he does—he’s so curious, you know—or he’ll say those things that will make you rethink your entire life on the spot.” He should probably stop, but he can’t. “It’s a little odd; we’ve known him for a few months, but I’ve learned so much from him already.”

“Uh.” Minseok’s tone is slightly stunned, if not a little flat. “You guys do seem pretty close, yeah.”

Something uncomfortable lodges itself in Baekhyun’s stomach, but he ignores it. “I guess so,” he says with a shrug. “I mean, I was the first person he met, here. And we got to know each other fairly quickly—”

“Do you really know him, though?” inquires Minseok. “For that matter, we don’t know why he came here, in the first place. Or why he chose to stay. Or even how he learned Korean.”

This conversation is taking a turn that makes Baekhyun stop in his tracks. “Hyung… is something going on?”

Minseok visibly swallows, shaking his head. “It’s just—it’s very odd, that’s it. It’s not that I don’t trust Yixing, not really. But…” He sighs, frustrated. “I don’t know. I can’t figure him out. And I can’t figure _you_ out, either. Not since he’s been around.”

Breathing suddenly gets hard, but Baekhyun masks it as best as he can. “What do you mean?”

Biting his lips, Minseok looks everywhere around him but at Baekhyun. “He’s… You… As you said, you’re really close. I’ve seen you with many people before, Baekhyun, but I’ve never seen you like this. Not with anyone. And I don’t want to think anything, but it’s hard when you’re becoming harder to read.”

“You don’t have to read me, hyung,” Baekhyun says, slightly offended. “You could just ask me, you know.”

“I would,” Minseok replies, “if I knew you’d tell me the truth.” Pursued lips, he continues. “But since you asked… do you like him, or something?”

Minseok’s question sends dread pooling in Baekhyun’s stomach and he can feel bile rising up his throat.

Jongdae had been so kind, more understanding than Baekhyun would have expected. Suddenly, his words surface again.

_I don’t think Minseok-hyung would take it well. He loves you, but… he doesn’t understand it, either._

_And I doubt he wants to._

Baekhyun feels like a criminal, caught in the act even though he hasn’t said nor done anything. And he isn’t even in the wrong—there isn’t, shouldn’t be anything wrong with him.

Yixing had said so.

“What are you saying?” Baekhyun says, but his voice sounds fake, and he cringes at the sound of it.

Minseok seems to see right through it as well, as he scoffs, shocked. “I thought my question was pretty clear. And I was really hoping I was wrong, but… you’ve never been a good liar, Baekhyun.”

“Hyung, listen—”

“So that’s really it, then? You like him? Do you guys fuck around when we’re not in sight, then? What else?” His words are spit out and fury laces them. “Does that kind of messed up shit really make you that happy?”

“Please, hyung, let me just—”

“Wow.” Minseok’s expression is harder now; stunned, and Baekhyun sees something bad, something directed at _him_ that he’s always feared but had hoped never to see, until now. “Of all people, it had to be you, Baekhyun. You had to turn out like this.”

“Like what?” Baekhyun suddenly screams, because he can’t take it anymore. It’s not like there’s anything to hide anymore, no matter how much it hurts, the way Minseok is staring at him, eyes on fire.

“Like a fucking queer, Baekhyun!” Minseok yells back. “What’s gotten into you—did Yixing, did he say something, or—”

“Hyung, shut up, don’t bring him into this.”

“Baekhyun,” Minseok presses with a hard voice, “please tell me I’m wrong. You can’t… you’re not, are you?”

_He doesn’t understand it, either. And I doubt he wants to._

Baekhyun doesn’t know how to fight this battle. Running away might be cowardly, but what choice does he have? What the hell can he do, what even is he supposed to say?

“I’ll get going,” he says, voice raspy even though he’s barely said a word. “Forget about dinner.”

When Minseok grips his wrist, painfully, Baekhyun shakes off his arm, breaking from his hold. “Baekhyun, fuck!”

“No!” Baekhyun says loudly. “No. I’ll see you tomorrow, hyung. And after that, you can act like you don’t know me, I don’t care. You don’t have to see me.”

“Don’t act like a kid—”

But Baekhyun doesn’t wait, leaves the building in a hurry and kicks the door behind him once he’s outside.

He’s furious, but also on the verge of breaking down. Tears are welling up in his eyes and this isn’t the time—what he feels is worse than sadness, more frustrating than anger.

There’s shame mixed up in that cocktail, and Baekhyun just can’t deal with it now.

He tries not think about the night he and Yixing shared, merely days before. He tries not to remember the touch of Yixing’s lips on his, this morning, as a way of waking him up from the best night of sleep he’s gotten in far too long.

_A fucking queer._

The evening sky around him is conflictingly pale, covered with thick clouds that threaten to pour at any moment. He wants it to be dark, the darkest possible; he doesn’t want to see nor feel anything.

Baekhyun’s blood is boiling, his thoughts are racing, but there’s just nothing that can fix him, right now—the thought of Yixing lets guilt take over him, while Minseok’s harsh words deepen that overwhelming, sickening feeling in him. He doesn’t know where or who to turn to.

He’s lost, once again, just when he thought he wasn’t.

When he enters the farmhouse, Yixing shoots him a questioning look that turns concerned as soon as he reads Baekhyun’s expression.

“What about…”

“They’re not coming,” is all Baekhyun offers as an explanation, tone sharp. When Yixing starts to get up from the table to follow him, he shakes his head vehemently. “No, please.”

The tears have started falling, and it’s… fuck.

He shoots a look at his grandmother, who’s not even looking at him, pursued lips and frowning eyes cast down. He can’t read her, doesn’t try to, in case he sees something he doesn’t want to face, once again.

He leaves the room, enters his own. It feels empty, without Yixing, now.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is how the second part ends... Don't forget to leave kudos and comments if you love the story or if you're curious about anything! Last chapter comes out on Christmas :)


	4. part iii: flight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow... here we are, at midnight sharp. Merry Christmas everyone! I hope you enjoy this as much as I've enjoyed working on it. Thank you so much for all the kind words I've received from you guys ♥
> 
> Song for this chapter: "[For Forever](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3bBIo994O8g)" by Hua Chenyu (I previously assigned this song to the second part, but I changed that one after thinking about it over and over again... go check out the other song if you haven't!).

***

_La morale est la faiblesse de la cervelle._

***

The next morning comes too soon.

Baekhyun isn’t sure how it all passes by him so quickly—one moment, he’s spread over the floor, eyes haggard and mind racing; and the next, the sun is rising through his curtains, and it’s already time for him to get up and go.

They’re leaving today.

As dawn casts its low light over the village, Baekhyun has to get ready to leave everything he’s ever known behind, in hopes of starting a new life he hasn’t even planned in the unfamiliar streets of Seoul.

It suddenly feels like a ridiculous idea. Not only ridiculous, but simply way more spontaneous than it really is, despite all the months of preparation. Baekhyun feels far from ready.

Still, he goes through the motions of loading his bags in Chanyeol’s truck, his body feeling like it’s moving on its own, Baekhyun having no control over it. He feels as though he’s hiding within himself, buried in the corners of his mind, blocked from the world. Around him, he sees shapes moving around, and he recognizes Yixing’s silhouette amongst them, but that’s about it.

Everything is undefined, uncertain; the only thing that’s loud and clear in his head is Minseok’s words, Minseok’s disapproval, Minseok.

Baekhyun feels sick.

There’s something incredibly heavy in his chest that he simply can’t get rid of. The weight of Minseok’s stare on his back, on his every move, only adds to it immensely and makes it hard to focus on anything else.

For once in his life, he wants to shy away from all the attention, wants Minseok to just stop looking at him like he’s less valuable than the mud under his boot and to just get over it, because for once, Baekhyun doesn’t want to change.

He’s spent weeks, months of figuring things out, carelessly shifting between worry and fear and self-doubt, and he can’t afford to fall back into that pattern again. He knows as much, but most of all, Baekhyun knows he has Yixing, and whether Minseok likes it or not, that’s just the way things are.

Hurt still overwhelms his thoughts, and that’s probably the reason why he can’t say all of this to his best friend, because it remains painful. Baekhyun is still hurt, still angry. Lying awake at night might have numbed some of his feelings, but they’re still there, just hidden away rather well.

Soon comes the time to say goodbye, and although they’ve gone over this time and time again this past week, Baekhyun almost doesn’t find it within himself to hug his grandmother for the last time in a few weeks at least. She leaves a peck on his cheek, and gives him a wary but kind smile. He returns it sincerely and hopes it’s enough.

He knows it isn’t, but he’ll feel bad about that later.

He embarks in the car too soon, he knows it. He has to wait for Yixing to load his own small luggage on the car, and for Jongdae and Minseok to make their last goodbyes.

Baekhyun stays alone in the car, listens to the hum of the engine, lets it lull him. It sounds a little like a purring cat, except much louder, and probably not as comforting, but it’s close enough for him to feel a little more at ease.

He can do this. He can leave, his best friends in tow, and eventually, they’ll sort it out. They have to. They must.

When he hears steps approaching the car, he moves to sit at the back of the pick-up truck and finds Yixing there, seated with his arms on his knees. When he hears Baekhyun approach, he looks up, a cloudy expression on his face. “Hey.”

It’s about the first words they’ve exchanged since last night. Yixing had come into the room when Baekhyun was pretending to be asleep, and Baekhyun had made sure to get ready before waking him up that morning.

He’s thankful for Yixing’s understanding, though. It shows that questions are burning at the tip of his tongue, but Baekhyun is glad Yixing has kept quiet about them.

“Ready?” Baekhyun asks, moving to sit across from Yixing between two bags of his own.

“To leave? I’m not really the one leaving my hometown behind,” Yixing replies. He tilts his head. “Are you?”

Baekhyun pursues his lips and takes his time to answer. He thinks of his grandmother—who is still next to the car, not directly looking at him although Baekhyun knows she desperately wants to—and he thinks about his parents buried in the woods not too far from here. He thinks of the school up the road and he thinks of the bookstore. He thinks of all these places; all these memories he’s made in them.

He recalls the drunken nights and frightful ones; he recalls Jongdae’s comforting company or Minseok’s kindness. He remembers the guesthouse.

“Not really,” Baekhyun then says. “I’m not alright either. But I will be. Let’s go.”

Yixing smiles, reaches out to squeeze his hand just a moment before letting go and sitting back. “Let’s go.”

***

Despite the mid-September sun, the air remains cold and crisp in the early morning hours. An icy breeze brushes Baekhyun's skin, threads through strands of his hair, numbs his senses and lodges itself deeply into his heart. He figures he'll probably catch a cold from it, but it works as a blanket right now, covering himself from the people around him and their curious looks.

The car is moving fast, the road free of any other vehicles or passersby at this time of the day. A few stray leaves that have started falling are covering the soil, and Baekhyun watches as some of them are taken away by the wind, waltzing and flying until Baekhyun cannot see them properly anymore.

They’re about an hour away from Seoul, still. Minseok is in the car, on the passenger seat next to Chanyeol who’s driving. Both Jongdae and Yixing are asleep, sitting next to each other, Jongdae’s head on Yixing’s shoulder and Yixing’s head leaning on Jongdae’s. They’re sharing a blanket, and Baekhyun smiles bitterly at the sight.

They don’t look like lovers. They’re sitting close and sharing the same space, but they don’t look like lovers. Baekhyun knows Minseok wouldn’t shoot them dark glances, wouldn’t call them names, wouldn’t say or even think a word. He knows, because watching them, Baekhyun understands that _because_ they’re not lovers, they don’t come off as if they were.

It’s different from what he and Yixing might be, might look like. Because Baekhyun knows he has a hard time keeping even his eyes away from Yixing, and it’s a little bit the same thing he used to notice from Jongdae when he was around Soojung. There’s a yearning, something that seems to be pulling one to the other, that is absent between two best friends, or acquaintances. And even though Baekhyun is not an onlooker to his own life, he has a feeling of what he, what they might look like. It must be obvious.

With the cold wind whipping at his face, with no background noise surrounding him aside from the car’s wheels on the road, Baekhyun is left thinking and pondering on those thoughts. He sighs deeply, refusing to let feelings anchor themselves in his guts.

He can’t get angry; he can’t fall into despair again. The love he’s learned to accept is stronger than that, anyway.

So instead, Baekhyun starts to wonder about Seoul, about a new life on the point of starting.

There’s so much he— _they_ can do.

Baekhyun thinks about the bar he and Yixing visited, months ago now, and he almost catches the smell of smoke and soju in the wind that brushes past him. He remembers Yixing’s warmth, so present and invigorating as it had been. He pictures Yixing’s hand around his bottle, swaying it gently. He sees Yixing’s eyelashes leaving shadows against his skin, how beautiful he had looked.

Baekhyun reminds himself of Seoul’s summer streets, and how they might look now, as fall approaches. Street food sellers littering the sidewalks, passersby not even sparing a look to the pair he and Yixing would make, there would be many of them, again. But this time, with the cold making its way into the country, Yixing would have to wear a jacket, and a scarf—even though Baekhyun knows he must hate it, with how sensitive his neck is and everything. But Baekhyun would insist, maybe leave a small kiss on the tip of his nose in the shadows just because he can, just because he believes he should have the right to. And Yixing would smile at him, maybe roll his eyes, and lace his fingers with Baekhyun’s, and…

Alone with the wind, between a life that just ended and another about to begin, it’s so easy, imagining a life with Yixing, far away from constraints that still overlook them closely.

***

Kim Junmyeon is just like Baekhyun remembers him—full of manners and kind smiles.

As the truck pulls up in front of the city guesthouse, the young manager keeps a warm but calculated gaze on them, arms crossed and leaning against the door to his building.

Jongdae is next to him, speaking in low tones and seemingly finalizing a few things regarding their stay. From where he’s watching the pair of them, Baekhyun has the impression that Junmyeon is a little like Minseok, in a way—strangers don’t seem to bother him, not like they might bother others. He’s silently nodding at whatever Jongdae is telling him, sometimes turning to him to flash him a quick, sincere smile.

Baekhyun decides he likes Kim Junmyeon.

A hand settles on his shoulder, and he smiles when he turns and sees Chanyeol, red-rimmed eyes staring back at him and mirroring his smile.

“Park Chanyeol,” he says, and there’s a final tone to it that he hates but can’t help notice.

Chanyeol seems to notice too, but it only makes him smile broader, if not a little sadder, too. “Byun Baekhyun.”

When Chanyeol opens his arms, Baekhyun takes one step and reciprocates the embrace. The warmth of it makes his smile persist. “Take care of Halmeoni while I’m gone, yeah?”

“I already promised, Baekhyun,” Chanyeol says, but Baekhyun feels him nodding, so he relaxes a little. “You’ll come visit soon enough anyway, yeah?”

There’s hope in Chanyeol’s tone, and Baekhyun wishes he was able to confirm Chanyeol’s words, but there’s just something—many things—that keep him from agreeing. “I’ll see you, Chanyeol-ah.”

The taller man takes a few steps back, flashes his characteristic sloppy smile to his friend. “You’d better. Now, go.”

Baekhyun only nods, hands in his pockets and watching Chanyeol retreat to his truck. The bags have all been left at the door of the guesthouse, and Minseok and Yixing have already starting bringing some of them inside the establishment. Baekhyun tries not to notice how Minseok very much avoids Yixing’s attention.

Chanyeol peeks out of the driver’s seat window, turning back to wave one last time at Baekhyun who waves back. There’s something that both unfolds almost liberatingly in Baekhyun’s heart and constricts tightly at the sight; like something he’s letting go of, but that also feels like an adieu, in a way.

The truck starts driving, making clouds of dust elevate from the soil and Baekhyun’s eyes itch from the dirt. His vision gets foggy with tears, and there’s a sick feeling in his stomach that confirms that the watering of his eyes does not only stem from the dust.

His hands shake slightly when he brings them up to brush away the tears.

***

“We can’t room together.”

The words sound foreign even as they come out of his own mouth, but Baekhyun doesn’t take them back.

Facing him is a dumbfounded Yixing, eyebrows slightly raised and mouth parted.

They’re the only ones in the hall of the second floor of the guesthouse—something Minseok’s long-lost mansion did not possess—and so it is very much the only time Baekhyun gets alone with Yixing before Jongdae and Minseok come back up the stairs.

No kisses, no embrace, none of that occurs, however. He does let himself hold onto Yixing’s hand, play with his fingers, even though they’ve known grown rigid and cold in his own hands.

It’s just that Baekhyun knows—and knows Yixing knows, too—that this is still too dangerous, too risky, too much to handle. That they can’t afford to throw away prudence just because they’ve left the village; Seoul might be grand and offer much more than they can both dream of, there are still things that won’t change in the city. This is one of them.

Still, Yixing is staring at him with a confused, almost annoyed expression. It would seem annoyed, if Baekhyun hadn’t learned with time to discern Yixing’s expression, or to read the patience that softens his gaze.

“Baekhyun—what?”

“I’ll room with Minseok-hyung,” Baekhyun continues, “and you can stay with Jongdae.”

“No, Baekhyun,” Yixing starts to stutter, “why—what is this, all of a sudden?”

Baekhyun sighs, squeezes Yixing’s hand, but the latter only pulls away his hand, not harshly but quickly enough to show his discontentment. Maybe Baekhyun was wrong, about the not-being-annoyed thing.

With another sigh, more huffed and frustrated this time, Baekhyun hides his shaky hands in his pockets. “I just thought about it more, is all. And like—I think it would be better. More careful.”

Yixing closes his eyes, eyebrows still furrowed, but he seems to relax despite his clouded expression. His tongue comes out to lick at his lips, before he opens his eyes again. “Right. Careful. Okay, yeah, you’re right.” A sharp nod.

Baekhyun almost deflates with relief, but doesn’t get to say a word before Yixing speaks again.

“But Baekhyun, please,” the man pleads. Baekhyun fixes the intent eyes staring him down, and he cannot look away. “Don’t be a stranger. Don’t… don’t do it, again.”

Yixing doesn’t need to say, to specify anything for Baekhyun to understand. And fortunately, Baekhyun agrees with him.

He offers him a soft smile, one he hopes is as sincere as he feels, despite sorry being written all over it. “I won’t,” he promises. “I just… we just have to be careful.”

With lips pressed into a thin line, Yixing nods, but attempts a smile and that’s enough to calm some of Baekhyun’s nerves.

“Are you sure you want to room with Minseok-hyung, though?” asks Yixing, and Baekhyun knows the question is innocent but he can’t help feel his heart freeze at the words.

“Uh—yeah, I’m sure,” Baekhyun replies after a moment. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

As they start walking back downstairs to help with luggage, Yixing shrugs. “I would think you’d be more comfortable with Jongdae, that’s it.”

Yixing is not wrong. In fact, Baekhyun would kill to go back on his words, room with Yixing and spend every night in the same bed like they have for the past weeks, or room with Jongdae and avoid Minseok. But that would mean leave Yixing in Minseok’s company, and Baekhyun doesn’t know why the prospect of that is so frightening and he simply can’t let himself witness it to tell.

It’s bothersome, how complicated things got after only one night when they were going so well, until now.

“You’re right,” Baekhyun agrees. “But… Minseok is my hyung, too. I know him very well, just like he—just like he knows me.” A shrug that almost makes him choke on his words. “It’ll be okay.” A quick look at Yixing, who’s still watching him intently. Baekhyun smiles. “And you love Jongdae, too.”

A low hum is the only thing Baekhyun gets from Yixing. Baekhyun isn’t sure if Yixing was able to see right through him, but Yixing must have sensed something about Baekhyun’s aura, because he doesn’t pry. Without a word, Baekhyun follows him down the stairs, where he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

***

It’s when the luggage has all been put away, when the sun has set over the busy streets of the city and when they’re all sharing a meal in the common room of the guesthouse with Junmyeon that it seemingly dawns on them.

The room is small, with five or six tables sharing the space. Chairs are lining up the walls, piled up over each other in straight columns. The one they’re seated at is the longest one—it can seat about eight people, but with all the food on the table, they manage to take up most of the space, with the five of them.

On the table, side dishes are scattered around a main pot of soup, looking appetizing and making Baekhyun wonder where it all comes from. He guesses food isn’t hard to come by in Seoul—not that it was, back in the village; but food costs money, a lot of it. Baekhyun wonders how Junmyeon can pay for such fulfilling meals, if it all comes from his guests or if there’s something else.

For the most part, dinner goes by in silence, with a few scattered questions from a curious host. Junmyeon is an interesting character, Baekhyun finds, with his sincere kindness but intriguing, secretive aura. Maybe Jongdae knows more than he does, which would explain why Jongdae is always readily answering his questions, sometimes adding futile details that take Baekhyun by surprise but seem to greatly please Junmyeon, who hides his shy laugh behind his palm.

Yixing follows the few exchanges with his eyes, while Minseok stays put.

After a long silence, it’s Jongdae who speaks up first, lips only a few centimeters away from the glass of soju he’s holding in the air. “Shit.”

Baekhyun raises an eyebrow at him. Next to him, Yixing pauses too, swallowing the bite of rice he’s been munching on.

Minseok isn’t looking up. He’s staring at his glass resolutely, like the world around him isn’t his own. Baekhyun is stuck between wanting to yell at him and wanting the ground to swallow him.

“What’s up?” Yixing asks, putting his chopsticks down and opting to pay attention to Jongdae’s words instead.

Jongdae looks up, shoots them each a glance. He’s holding the attention of the entire room, and he knows it—Baekhyun sees it in the way he takes his time staring at each of the men seated with him with intent.

That is, before he starts laughing. “Oh my God. I can’t believe I actually forgot.”

Junmyeon, seated at the end of the table, throws inquiring looks around the table. “Do you guys know what he’s on about?”

Slightly put off, Baekhyun shrugs, while Yixing frowns. Minseok stays silent.

When Jongdae calms down only to start laughing again, something suddenly clicks in Baekhyun’s brain.

 _Oh, my God_. “Junmyeon-ssi—”

“You can call me hyung.”

“—oh, uh, um, Junmyeon-hyung, what’s today’s date?” asks Baekhyun.

It’s not Junmyeon who replies, though. “You fucking brat,” Jongdae wheezes, and it’s said with too much laughter to be taken seriously.

If Baekhyun’s honest, he is a bit of a brat. For that, at least.

Amused and slightly confused, Junmyeon speaks up. “I believe it’s… September 21st. September 21st, 1948. Can I—”

“Shit,” Baekhyun interrupts. _Shit_.

Somehow, with everything, Baekhyun had managed to forget that—

“Today’s my fucking birthday,” Jongdae says, before he starts laughing again, and this time Baekhyun joins him, almost hysterically.

Junmyeon is staring at them, eyes wide and an unsure smile on his lips. “Oh.”

Next to Baekhyun, Yixing is laughing too, but only a little, like he’s trying not to be heard.

It’s just… it’s a little crazy, how much time has passed since everything, and how now they find themselves in a guesthouse in Seoul, of all places, celebrating Jongdae’s birthday without really celebrating it. Just like it’s a little crazy, how it has already been four months since Baekhyun’s own birthday, and even more so, about five months since Yixing entered their lives.

Of course, Baekhyun doesn’t think of all that at once, or in any clear fashion, anyway. But it somewhat hits him, the fact that time is passing, they’re growing, so much is happening…

Isn’t it funny? It’s better to see it as a funny thing than consider how sad it can be, in reality.

Minseok’s snort cuts through the laughter, and makes Baekhyun stop almost brusquely. Jongdae continues, for a little while before he calms down a second time, eyes teary and smiling.

“Happy birthday, Kim Jongdae,” Minseok murmurs. His tone is not harsh, not unkind—it is sincere, just a little off, or maybe to Baekhyun’s ears only.

“Well thank you, Kim Minseok,” Jongdae says, showing his characteristic feline smile proudly. He winds an arm around his older friend’s shoulders and sighs theatrically. “You know, I haven’t had an ounce of alcohol yet, but I can’t remember for the life of me how old I’m turning today.”

“Would you like a reminder?” Minseok says, and there’s a slight mischievous smile on his lips that makes Baekhyun’s stomach turn. Why won’t Minseok be playful like this to him, too?

He knows the answer too well to admit it to himself.

“Absolutely not,” Jongdae huffs. “Life’s too short anyway. No need to worry about how much time has passed—or how much I have left. I could die tomorrow, for all I know.”

“Don’t say things like that,” Junmyeon chimes in. Baekhyun almost forgot him, at the head of the table like a newfound leader to their little group. Maybe that’s why Minseok is being gloomy, and not for the obvious reasons Baekhyun is trying so hard to ignore. “What if you actually die tomorrow?”

Jongdae merely shrugs, which makes Minseok raise an eyebrow. Baekhyun is watching them, slowly feeling like he’s being taken away from the scene despite not moving at all. “Well, if I do, that’s alright. I’ve had a good life. Didn’t get married, but that’s okay. I’ve had the two best people I could ever meet by my side, and this little one—” he points to Yixing with an amused smile, “—is also growing to be one of my favourites, too.”

At that, Yixing exclaims a loud laugh that he covers up quickly with a hand. Facing him, Minseok keeps his smile, but frowns slightly. “Your favourite?”

A roll of the eyes answers Minseok. “Don’t be jealous, hyung,” Jongdae purrs. “You’re still my most _favourite_ favourite.”

Usually, Baekhyun would throw a fit at how Jongdae promised time and time again that _he_ was his favourite, and they would argue over it and end up laughing to the point of crying again, and it would ease their hearts because that’s what Baekhyun and Jongdae are the best at: making things better, together.

But Baekhyun stays silent, as Minseok shoots him a look that’s not hateful, but not kind, either.

It’s cold. Cold and unfazed and so unlike Minseok it makes Baekhyun want to cry, and not of happiness.

He almost does start crying, in fact, when Junmyeon says, “You guys seem to be very close. You must have looked out for each other for a long time now.”

Junmyeon’s right, is the thing. Jongdae nods slowly, his smile softening. “I’ve known these two forever, literally. I can’t think of anything that could possibly tear us apart. I mean it, when I say we’re the best of friends.”

Baekhyun sees Minseok visibly freeze under Jongdae’s arm, if not flinch. Guilt slowly fills his traits, and it hurts to see that despite everything, despite the harsh words and cold attitude, Minseok still cares deeply for him but apparently can’t bring himself to fix things, or maybe he thinks he can’t, at all.

_I can’t think of anything that could possibly tear us apart._

Baekhyun is so tired of being played by the universe, like the entire world is tricking him, mocking him, as if his entire life is just part of some big joke to entertain whoever is looking from above, down on him and his friends.

He’s had enough—literally _enough_ —of things going the wrong way, of things getting in the way, of this stupid vicious cycle starting over and over again and never leaving him alone.

“The _best_ of friends,” Baekhyun echoes. “Yeah.”

He watches Minseok look down, unable to sustain his stare any longer. Baekhyun almost scoffs.

“Well, that calls for a drink, yeah?” Junmyeon exclaims. With his unrelenting smile, he pours each of them soju in their respective glasses, before sitting back and rising his own. “To Kim Jongdae-ssi; I wish you a long, fulfilling life, a happy one, especially. And to you all, the best of friends. May you remain as close as brothers could ever be.”

Baekhyun is the first one to raise his glass, arm high and eyes daring, followed by Jongdae, who’s still smiling, oblivious to the obvious tension shaking his friends.

Minseok takes a little longer to lift up his arm, but does so anyway, with a face Baekhyun can’t read. He hates it.

“Yixing,” Jongdae says, “you too, come on.”

Yixing starts blushing, shaking a dismissive hand. “I don’t want to intrude or anything—”

“Look at this idiot,” Jongdae shakes his head. “You’re not intruding, you’re our friend too. And even if you weren’t—it’s my _birthday_. You wouldn’t want to come off as a rude guy and not wish me a happy birthday, right?”

A soft laugh escapes Yixing’s throat. Baekhyun turns to look at him, nodding to him subtly. When he turns back to the table, he searches Minseok’s eyes before he says, “Yeah, come on. You’re one of us, now, whether you like it or not.”

Minseok licks his lips, looks back down again. As much as a part of him hates it, Baekhyun takes pride in affecting his friend like this, in making him reconsider things, in putting him on the spot even under the oblivious audience surrounding them.

“Cheers!” Junmyeon says, once Yixing joins his glass to theirs. “Happy birthday, Kim Jongdae!”

“Happy birthday to me!” Jongdae yells back, standing abruptly before he drinks the contents of his glass in one go. He stumbles a little when he puts it back down on the table, but not without a bright and broad smile.

Baekhyun does the same, and the alcohol burns his throat and warms his limbs almost painfully. He basks in it, in the concrete feeling of something cursing through his veins and making him feel something.

He’d rather be in bed, with Yixing maybe, discovering that body of his with his mouth and hands, kissing him senseless and make Yixing do to him all those things he had kept murmuring night and night again before their departure. That would make him feel something, something good and invigorating, that is nothing alike to the awful feeling washing through him, that nothing can ever compare to.

That night, Baekhyun is the last one to go upstairs. He finds Minseok sound asleep in his bed, facing the wall and showing his back to whoever would enter the room. In silence, Baekhyun gets ready for sleep, making a note to himself to look for a job the next morning. He doesn’t feel ready unpacking just yet.

Suddenly, Baekhyun is reminded of Yixing’s own bags, all those months ago, that had stayed intact at the corner of his room in Minseok’s guesthouse, untouched, to the point where they were even lost in the fire, with Yixing not even once looking through them.

Baekhyun wants to ask him, wants to know what they contained, what they meant. He wants to ask Yixing about his departure from China, his arrival to Korea; his choices and decisions that brought him to Baekhyun, but also his reasons as to his prolonged, and most likely permanent stay by his side.

He doesn’t. Yixing is most likely asleep at this hour, and Baekhyun could definitely use some rest, too.

Once all the lights are off and Baekhyun is in bed, he listens to the soft sound of Minseok’s breathing, almost imperceptible in the room. There’s an odd taste to the air that Baekhyun cannot pinpoint.

“Goodnight, hyung,” he murmurs, before closing his eyes and giving up to slumber.

***

Mornings in Seoul are nothing like what they are in the countryside.

Although it isn’t Baekhyun’s first time in the city, he still has a hard time getting used to the early morning cacophony that wakes him—loud motors and cars honking as they drive by, merchants chanting their arrival hoping to attract a few early customers; children, mothers, old men. It’s a never ending concert coming through the window panes despite them being closed due to the cold autumn weather.

When he turns in bed to look at the opposite side of the room, he finds all the blankets neatly folded on the ground in the corner, next to Minseok’s bags. The floor is clean, and the carpet is rolled up next to the wall. It’s like he didn’t sleep here at all last night.

A long sigh escapes Baekhyun’s throat. He’s a little unsure what to do, now that he has no job at Mr. Lee’s bookstore, no paddy fields to attend to, no direct responsibilities. He’s never had the luxury of being bored before, and this is all very new to him. Not that enjoyable, either.

After washing up quickly, he leaves his room only to stop at the foot of the stairs. In the silence of the hall, he can hear the very faint noise of voices coming from Jongdae’s and Yixing’s room, as if they were whispering rather than talking.

A pang of jealousy hits him, and it’s ridiculous, Baekhyun knows—in a way, he put himself in that situation, and he trusts Yixing, too—but he can’t help it, can’t help the feeling of being left out, of missing out.

Or maybe that’s not it at all; maybe Baekhyun only misses Yixing’s presence, and more than simply his physical presence. It has only been two days, but he misses the pair they make, the butterflies that erupt in his guts when they’re touching, the soft and warm feeling he gets when they’re together, even only talking, just the two of them.

Baekhyun misses Yixing as he somehow would miss a part of him, and it’s quite crazy to put it that way, but there’s no other way for him to explain it.

He misses the entity they make, the unit they’ve come to form, together. Baekhyun and Yixing, Yixing and Baekhyun.

“Stupid bastard,” he mutters under his breath. He presses his hands over his tired face, before shaking his head, as if to shake away his thoughts. “Get your act together.”

Baekhyun forgets the voices in the hall, the craving in his heart. He tries to, anyway.

He finds himself in the common room of the guesthouse, where he finds Minseok at a table, an empty cup of tea next to him. His eyes are tired, stormy almost, and Baekhyun has no idea what to make of them.

He looks like he hasn’t slept at all. Maybe he hasn’t, as far as Baekhyun knows.

“Hyung,” he acknowledges once he enters the room.

Minseok makes to reply, but decides against it. He nods, doesn’t look towards Baekhyun at all. Baekhyun is torn between rolling his eyes and begging Minseok to forgive him, even though he has nothing to feel sorry for.

“Where did you get the tea?”

“The kitchen.”

“Uh. Where’s that?”

“Not sure. Junmyeon brought it for me.”

“Ah, I see. Have you seen him—”

“He’ll be back soon.”

“Ah. Thanks.”

Baekhyun swallows. He hates everything. The tension is palpable in the room, and it makes him feel more unwelcome than he ever has in his life.

It’s when he makes to leave and go back upstairs that Minseok’s voice brings him back. “Yah. Come and sit.”

Baekhyun hurries, sitting across from his best friend. It feels odd, being addressed directly by Minseok, after so much of nothing despite the short time.

He’s angry, frustrated, lost, but most of all, Baekhyun just wants his best friend back.

Minseok still refuses to look at him, but he’s visibly nervous, fingers running through his black hair and sometimes pulling at strands frustratingly. He’s willing to talk to Baekhyun, though. That’s something.

“So, um,” Minseok starts, “I just… I just want you to know, I don’t, like. I don’t _hate_ you.”

A pause.

So they’re about to have _that_ kind of talk. Somehow, Baekhyun isn’t sure what to expect, still. “Oh. Okay. That’s a relief, actually. I guess.”

“You didn’t actually think I hated you, did you?” Minseok asks, and he finally meets Baekhyun’s eyes. They’re still unreadable, and his tone is just a little bored still to keep Baekhyun cautious.

Minseok’s words almost make him snort. It’s not like Baekhyun has felt more out of place in the past twenty hours or so than he has in his entire life, no, not at all.

Baekhyun shrugs. “I’m not sure of most of what I think, these days.”

“What does that mean?”

Baekhyun shrugs again. “Nothing.” He doesn’t know. “But I’m glad to hear you don’t hate me.”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t think you’re…” Minseok’s words fade slowly, and he drops his gaze again. “I hate this. I fucking hate this.”

Ah. There it is. “Basically, you still think I’m weird.”

“If I’m fucking honest, ‘weird’ doesn’t cut it,” answers Minseok. A long sigh escapes him, that seems to relax both his body and his thoughts. It looks as though words are fighting to come out of his mouth, but Minseok thinks better of it, or something.

There’s something that hurts, lodged in Baekhyun’s heart, but he stays quiet, watching Minseok fish for words in the depths of his mind.

When he speaks again, his voice is softer. “And I don’t think I’ll ever get used to… _it_. I won’t resent you for it, I don’t think I can… but it doesn’t mean I don’t hate it. It freaks me out, to be honest. Like… You understand?”

 _No_ , Baekhyun wants to say. He doesn’t understand, absolutely doesn’t get why it matters _so much_ , but at the same time, he does, and maybe that’s what makes him reply, nonetheless, “Yeah, I get it.”

“I can’t hate you, Baekhyun. And I never will, I can promise you that. I don’t want to cut you out of my life, either.” Minseok’s tone is so softly spoken, loaded with something Baekhyun has never heard from him, that it makes Baekhyun listen more closely and with more care than ever before. “I hope you know that.”

“I know that now, hyung,” Baekhyun replies honestly.

“Good. That’s good. Okay.” Then Minseok flashes him a smile, the first one Baekhyun has seen in over two days, and it’s crooked and forced, but it counts as something. When it’s about to vanish, Minseok adds, “But, uh. Yeah. I guess it might take me a little while to, like. Get over it.”

In all honesty, Baekhyun isn’t sure what to make of Minseok’s words—they sound a lot like an apology, but an empty one, in a way. It’s not like he can expect more, either, but there’s still… Baekhyun only wishes it was easier, that’s all.

Jongdae had warned him. Jongdae also made it much easier than Minseok had.

Has Jongdae even noticed anything? Probably not. With the move, and then the sudden realization of his birthday, and with the amount of alcohol he’s consumed (God knows if he didn’t drink more, too), Baekhyun doubts he’s realized anything strange between his two best friends. He hopes so, at least.

It’s better, then. The last thing they need is a three-way quarrel—better avoid it before it really starts, Baekhyun decides.

“Can I ask you something?” Minseok suddenly asks, pulling Baekhyun away from his thoughts.

“Sure, hyung.”

“Why?”

Baekhyun pauses. He’s not exactly sure what to say, if he’s honest—or if he’s supposed to say anything at all, really. He doesn’t even know what the question even _means_. “Why what?”

“Just…” Frustration starts to fill Minseok’s traits again, but they seem more targeted towards himself rather than fully directed to Baekhyun. It’s a change from two nights before, and Baekhyun finds it slightly relieving. “Why are you… and Yixing… like. The way you are? Couldn’t you just like girls? Doesn’t that make more sense anyway?”

Ah. So that’s what it is about, Baekhyun realizes.

There’s a disgusting feeling blocking his airways, but he breathes through it, tries to find the words, a way to make sense out of this.

If he’s honest, Minseok has a point—it doesn’t really make sense. _Love_ doesn’t make sense, ever. Between men, between women, between one and the other. He’s learned that much.

“How does that make sense, hyung?”

Minseok shrugs, refusing once again to meet Baekhyun’s eyes. “It just does. Man and woman. That’s just how it _is_.”

“Right. Let me ask you a question. Why didn’t you fall in love with Soojung, hyung?”

Minseok stops. “What?”

Baekhyun breathes through his nose, trying not to let his own frustration show. “Soojung. Jung Soojung. The girl who’s been Mr. Lee’s most addicted customer, one of our oldest friends, and the object of Jongdae’s very lonely one-way love life ever since we were about twelve years old. Why didn’t you fall for her, too?”

Although he’s still keeping his eyes down, Minseok is raising an eyebrow, meaning he’s following intently. Or maybe not. Either way, he’s listening, and that’s what Baekhyun wants. “I just didn’t? It’s not like I _had_ to. Where are you getting with this?”

“See, that’s exactly it, hyung. I just never, ever fell for a girl. Ever. Even when I thought I had a crush on Jinri, I think it was just because she had a crush on _me_. And then…” Yixing happened. “With Yixing, I guess I came to fully realize that I would never like a girl—and that I didn’t _have_ to, either. And if anything, I like _him_ , you know. Him only.”

Minseok doesn’t need to know about his ancient secret crush on Park Chanyeol, anyway. Baekhyun has gotten over it years ago, of course—but, still. No need to mention it, especially when it might just… make things worse, in a way.

Things are already complicated and unfairly difficult as they are right now.

Minseok has his eyes on the table, and there’s slight annoyance in his traits, but even like this, he still seems more open than Baekhyun would have thought him to be. “I guess I see your point. Sorry if I think it’s bullshit, though.”

Baekhyun sighs. “I can’t make you change your mind overnight, hyung.”

Although, he’d really like to. He would love Minseok to just put his goddamn fears aside and accept him—his best friend—as he is, but Baekhyun also knows better than anyone that acceptance is a difficult thing to acquire.

Acceptance of one’s self, as well as others. He knows as much.

After a silence, Minseok shoots Baekhyun a quick glance, before saying, “If you want some tea, I can fetch Junmyeon, for you.”

“I thought he was coming soon?”

Minseok grimaces, scratches his neck with an embarrassed air. “I might have twisted the truth a bit. I was just taken aback, sort of.”

 _Ouch_. Baekhyun swallows it, though. “Right. Go ahead then, hyung. I’ll wait here.”

“Right. I’ll be right back.”

Minseok gets up, starts moving towards the hall. Before he disappears behind the wall, he turns, calls Baekhyun’s name. His expression is grave, and slightly conflicted, but determination floods them.

“Yes, hyung?”

“I’m sorry, Baekhyun.”

So it _is_ an apology, after all. “Apology accepted, hyung.”

 

 

***

 

 

***

_Je sais aujourd’hui saluer la beauté._

***

Seoul gathers the biggest and most varied crowds, and that’s something that Baekhyun is both thankful for and fearful of.

It’s been a couple of weeks of them staying in the city, still looking for an actual place to live other than Junmyeon’s guesthouse. There’s only so much time and money they can take from him, no matter how kind the man is.

While they’re looking, all four of them decided to help with keeping the mansion—again, despite Junmyeon’s protests that no, it’s fine, he’s been doing this for over ten years now and he doesn’t need help, definitely not from his own guests—and so they help with simple things: cleaning the rooms, running errands, buying food.

Keeping Junmyeon company.

The man has become something close to a friend—maybe not as close as Jongdae and Minseok are to Baekhyun, or as undeniably special as Yixing has become, but definitely a friend, or at least a close acquaintance. It helps that they’re about the same age, Junmyeon only a few months older than Yixing, and so they have more in common than the other tenants who usually range between the forties to mid-fifties.

Over the weeks, Junmyeon has taken Baekhyun and Yixing over various tours of the city—which extended more than the few streets Baekhyun was already familiar with. They manage to visit each of the capital’s gates, and as much as Baekhyun is impressed, he can’t help but steal looks at Yixing’s even more expressive face, mouth shaped in a “o” as he stares up at the imposing structure facing them. His eyes are bright, the brightest Baekhyun remembers them to be, and warmth settles in his chest.

Maybe this is the new beginning they all needed.

What pleases Yixing the most, though, during those tours—and so obviously, what pleases Baekhyun the most, too—are the encounters with other fellow Chinese people they meet. Whether Yixing catches the sound of fluently spoken Mandarin in the streets, or whether he spots a Hunan cuisine restaurant not far from their guesthouse, the same thing happens—his eyes grow wide, he calls out Baekhyun’s name with pleased surprise, and proceeds to frantically point to whatever he wants Baekhyun to pay attention to.

Often times, Yixing goes forward to speak to those new people they meet, even for just a moment. Junmyeon and Baekhyun stay back, and Baekhyun constantly condemns himself for smiling too big, whenever he catches himself.

It’s hard not too, when Yixing is obviously so happy, cheeks dimpling and hands moving, his speech fast and precise in a way it definitely isn’t when he’s speaking Korean. Baekhyun can feel Yixing’s enthusiasm through his words, even though he doesn’t understand them.

It’s also as though each of these instances brings another story to Yixing’s mind, and he tells Baekhyun each one of them, every time. And each time, Baekhyun listens, and learns more about this man he still can’t believe chose to stay by his side.

Those moments, when crowds bring Yixing’s brighter side and animated personality to the surface, are Baekhyun’s favourites; as they move through the streets, Junmyeon rambling about the best places to get this or that, or when he indulges himself in telling a story of his own, and Baekhyun sometimes feeling brave and catching Yixing’s hand in his own, squeezing for just an instant, before letting go.

But Seoul’s crowds, especially in early October 1948, are also roaming with patriots that each call themselves singular fighters with their own ideas, all striving for the greater good of a country that is seemingly divided—even within the city.

Baekhyun avoids those. His young zeal, his strong desire to fight, what he thought was fighting for his identity—it’s all long gone now, and he’s known that for a while. As he watches old men spit frustrated words at rebellious, idealistic youngsters still strong and animated with a desire to fix what Baekhyun thinks can never be fixed, he starts to wonder if he, too, has gotten old, even despite being under thirty years old and much more likely to be mistaken for another rioting youth with his looks and modest clothes.

As much as he tries to avoid them, he knows not everyone shares his thoughts—and not everyone means Jongdae, who sometimes comes back to the guesthouse with red cheeks from staying out for too long, throat seemingly aching for shouting too loud in the chilly autumn air. More often than not, his hands are covered in mud or dust, and so are his knees and some parts of his clothes. Baekhyun also knows that when Jongdae comes home and says, with a faux air of nonchalance, that he’s going to sleep for a while, he is actually attending to his injuries, whatever they might be.

It shows. Sometimes, the next day, Jongdae will be wincing at his own brusque movements, and Baekhyun will notice but not say anything. Maybe because he knows it’s futile, anyway.

They’ve also caught up on their radio habits—the four of them in Minseok’s room, again, with the borrowed radio post from Junmyeon’s common room, just sitting around and lending their ear to news that only seem to be getting worse.

Often, Baekhyun wants to leave the room, maybe take Yixing along, and just… he doesn’t know, exactly, but the urge is there.

He doesn’t, though, because it’s hard to tear his eyes away from Jongdae, who listens with hard features and an intent figure Baekhyun has rarely seen on him; it’s almost worrying.

Also, just like Yixing’s eyes start shining bright when he makes new encounters, Jongdae’s eyes become fiery and vibrant with passion when he starts arguing and defending his ideas of liberty and preaches the Republic’s democracy, whether he’s only talking to his three other friends or he finds himself in a heated debate with coming tenants.

For the most part, it’s fine. It’s not like Baekhyun can keep Jongdae from doing anything—he, too, believes in freedom, his own as well as his friends’ and his country’s, and so he cannot admonish him. That doesn’t mean, however, that he doesn’t throw a, “ _Be careful_ ,” here and there, whenever he catches Jongdae about to leave the house before his hours bartending at a tavern down the street—a job Junmyeon found him, actually.

Something feels off, Baekhyun constantly notices. Not about Jongdae’s attitude—it’s always been the same, if only heightened since they moved—but about the environment itself. Something is coming.

The feeling is numb, but it’s there.

And it doesn’t sound good at all.

***

Some morning, Baekhyun wakes up to a hand brushing his hair, fingers dragging softly against the skin of his scalp. It’s soothing and achingly familiar, and Baekhyun enjoys how it somehow pulls him from his sleeping as much as it makes his drowsiness grow. Added to the warm blankets over his body, and the almost miraculous silence reigning in the room, it’s simply perfect.

The hum that escapes his throat is involuntary, but he lets it be. The hand in his hair pauses for a moment, before it continues, and it’s only then that Baekhyun really takes in the fact that there is a _hand_ in his hair.

He doesn’t have the energy to panic, or even move, and the touch is familiar enough to reassure him. “‘Morning.”

“Baekhyun-ah.”

The voice makes his eyes open instantly, and he almost cannot fight the gushy smile making its way to his lips. He hates how much it affects him, but… there’s something incredibly addicting to it, also.

When he turns, Yixing’s hand follows the movement, settling against his nape, warm and soft. His soft smile doesn’t make his dimples show, not quite—they’re only like a shadow against his cheeks, the right a little more pronounced than the left.

“What are you doing here?” Baekhyun asks. His voice is still heavy with sleep, but it’s okay, because it makes Yixing smile fully.

Beautiful. He’s so beautiful.

“I just wanted to see you.” Then Yixing does this thing Baekhyun absolutely loves, when he tilts his head and it’s like his face gets just a little fonder, a little more gorgeous. “Today is my birthday, did you know?”

Baekhyun knows Yixing’s birthday, yes. “We’re October 7th? Already?”

At that, Yixing fake pouts—Baekhyun knows, because the rest of his face is still somehow smiling. “Are you saying that because you forgot to get me something? Or you forgot completely? I can’t believe you, Baekhyun-ssi.”

“Baekhyun- _ssi_?” Baekhyun brings a hand to his face, cupping his own cheek. As he suspected, the skin is burning hot to the touch, and probably bright red, too. Ridiculous. “Why the formalities, suddenly?”

Yixing sighs deeply. “So many questions so early in the morning, and you haven’t even wished me happy birthday yet, sir.” He’s using formal speech, and it makes giggles bubble out of Baekhyun without him even realizing until it’s too late.

Furtively, Baekhyun throws a look at the opposite side of the room, where he knows Minseok usually sleeps. The floor is empty, blankets put back and neatly folded—too neatly to have been put away by Minseok himself. Yixing probably did it when he came into the room.

The need to look at the other side of the room is not exactly justified, but Baekhyun is still a little wary around Minseok. That’s just how it is.

Tearing himself away from the warmth of his blankets, Baekhyun sits up, catching Yixing’s hand that fell on his lap between his two own hands. “You’re right. Okay. Look at me.”

Yixing raises an eyebrow. “‘I’m right?’ So you didn’t even think of getting me anything?”

“Yixing, _look at me_.”

“You’re saying that like I haven’t been watching you sleep for the past twenty minutes.”

Baekhyun freezes, and feels his own skin blush. “Not to ruin the mood, but that sounds a little creepy.”

“Does it?” asks Yixing, eyes wide and incredulous. “I didn’t mean it like that, though. You’re very cute when you sleep. Is that creepy, really?”

 _Oh, God. I’m in love with him_.

Baekhyun nods. “Just a little. Anyway. My eyes. Look at me.”

When Yixing starts staring rather obnoxiously at Baekhyun, he says, “Okay, looking.”

For just a moment, Baekhyun stares back, observes just how _much_ there is right there, in front of him, for him to admire and take. Yixing’s eyes open to reveal so much emotion, as there’s so much depth to his gaze that Baekhyun can’t help but get lost in it, every time. It’s not misguiding in any way; in fact, it’s anchoring, amazingly so.

Baekhyun smiles. He doesn’t intend his voice to suddenly sound so soft when he speaks, and the intimacy of his tone shocks the both of them, it seems. “Happy birthday, Zhang Yixing.” A single breath. “I love you.”

It all happens effortlessly. Baekhyun just says it, and it’s there, out loud and impossible for him to take back, and it’s sort of terrifying, but…

It’s the one thing Baekhyun has come to realize is completely and undoubtedly true, right now.

And despite the turmoil that’s going on somewhere in his mind, Baekhyun does such a great job at ignoring it that he somewhat feels at peace, Yixing’s hand warm between his own, the two of them so close within their shared space. It’s as though all thoughts of an impending conflict outside, fears of being found out and hated for something they can’t help—they all seem part of a world so far away, a world Baekhyun lets himself forget, just for a moment, just this morning.

Right now, he’s breathing and living in a world in which there’s only Yixing, his delicate touch, his presence, his stuttering breath. In this world, like every other that they share, today is Yixing’s birthday, and that’s all that matters.

It’s almost comical, how Yixing’s eyelids flutter as soon as the words leave Baekhyun’s mouth, before Yixing’s lips part in silent surprise. Instead of letting fear settle in his gut, Baekhyun laughs, shakes off his anxious nerves through the slight hysteria that takes over him.

“I’m not dreaming, am I?” Yixing breathes out.

“Not dreaming.”

“Just a few weeks ago, I was afraid you’d run away from me again. Are you sure I’m not dreaming, Baekhyun-ssi?”

Baekhyun is tight with nerves, but he shakes his head vigorously.

He relaxes when Yixing smiles so wide it’s as though his dimples are piercing through the skin of his cheeks. “Baekhyun-ah—”

“Oh, so we’re back at speaking informally now, aren’t—”

Baekhyun’s words are swallowed by Yixing’s press of lips against his own, and Baekhyun would roll his eyes at how stupidly romantic they must look, with the scene they’ve just made and all, but he’s just a little too busy kissing Yixing back to pay mind to anything else.

Yixing uses his free hand to run his fingers back in Baekhyun’s hair, and they laugh after they both hum with content at the same time. Although their lips are detaching themselves from each other already, and it’s already over before anything really began, Baekhyun still smiles, still licks his lips just to taste Yixing again, just to make this moment last a little longer, be a little more memorable.

“I love you too,” murmurs Yixing, so close to Baekhyun’s mouth it’s almost as though Yixing had kissed his words against his skin.

“Good.” Then, brusquely, Baekhyun moves away from Yixing’s space and scrambles to get up. “Now, let me wash up and let’s go get breakfast together downstairs.”

“So you really didn’t get me anything, did you?”

“Yah!” Baekhyun exclaims, as he picks up the mess of blankets on the floor. “I only just woke up. I’m not even dressed. And you’re only worrying about your birthday gift?”

As soon as Yixing is on his feet, his arms suddenly circle Baekhyun’s waist, holding him close for a solid few seconds, before letting go. “Just teasing. Having you is more than enough.”

“Disgusting.”

“You love it.” Yixing then scrunches his nose. “Actually, you’re the disgusting one. Hurry up and clean yourself, will you?”

“Brat,” Baekhyun mumbles. “Get out, old man!”

Yixing’s squeaky laugh can be heard even as he closes the door behind him, and Baekhyun can’t help but shake his head, fond smile still desperately latched to his lips.

Ridiculous, truly.

It’s not even a minute later that Minseok then enters the room, frowning slightly, mouth turned down. “Yixing is giggling. A _lot_.”

Frozen, Baekhyun blinks, unable to answer. There’s something like an icy hand squeezing his heart in his chest, not enough to suffocate, but not exactly comfortable, either. Definitely not.

_Here we go again._

There’s been a lot of those little episodes, where Minseok is not hiding his disapproval all that well, and Baekhyun still has a hard time adjusting to it. Minseok doesn’t hate Yixing—nor does he hate Baekhyun, he said so himself—but it shows that he’s slightly put off by the two at times.

At least, though, Minseok is still talking to Baekhyun, so that’s something.

He clears his throat, before he says, “Today is his birthday.”

Minseok nods slowly. “I see. So that’s why Junmyeon was running around all morning, making a fuss about breakfast.” His eyes narrow themselves as they settle on Baekhyun. “You had something to do with it, didn’t you?”

Baekhyun looks down. “Maybe?” When Minseok doesn’t make a sound, he clarifies, “Yes.”

“Uh.” A weird looks crosses over Minseok’s face, and it takes a lot for Baekhyun not to sigh with aggravated annoyance. Or maybe not annoyance, just…

He wishes things were easier.

“I’ll go wash up,” Baekhyun announces to the room, unsure if he’s really addressing Minseok or just filling the heavy silence in the room.

“You go do that,” Minseok mumbles. “Hurry, too, before Yixing ruins himself the surprise.”

Baekhyun’s heart eases a little. “You’re right.”

“I’m always right.” Maybe, Baekhyun starts to think, Minseok is trying to make things easier, too. “I’m your hyung, aren’t I?”

***

For the most part, Yixing’s birthday goes by marvellously. If Baekhyun’s honest, it’s as though the day was miraculous, almost exempt of any complications, worrisome events, or anything of the sort, like an entire day taken out of the sweetest dream they could imagine.

Baekhyun’s gift consisted of breakfast, as Minseok had suspected—and Baekhyun knows it’s absolutely _not_ the greatest idea, but the few dumplings and chicken noodle soup Junmyeon managed to get from a nearby Chinese restaurant was more than enough to please Yixing.

He won’t admit it, but it even brought him to tears. Just a little. Only Baekhyun has to know.

Jongdae and Minseok got Yixing some new clothes—because yes, he had still been wearing the same borrowed shirts and pants he’s now washed and worn more times than anyone should have—which made Yixing laugh so hard at first he startled Junmyeon, who was still serving the entire common room the few extra servings of Chinese food they had, the strong smell having brought in a few erring tenants.

Jongdae and Baekhyun sing him the very few songs they know in Mandarin with obnoxiously loud voices, purposely out of tune, making Yixing desperately try to hide his cringing features behind a smile. They all see right through it, but Jongdae is the first one to completely break when Yixing squeezed his eyes shut at a terribly executed high note—Baekhyun can’t even remember who sang it—as he doubles over, laughing, his loud cackles bringing more attention to their little group than their terrible singing had.

That moment, Baekhyun knows, will remain cherished and priceless, to the four of them, despite underlying, subtle differences.

The rest of the day goes mostly as would their routine allow—Yixing gives a hand in the kitchen, not paying mind to Junmyeon’s protest especially on this special day, while Minseok leaves for the market to pick up groceries and maybe find a job, somewhere, by some miracle. Baekhyun usually stays behind with Yixing and Junmyeon, cleaning and giving help when he’s needed.

And, there’s Jongdae. And maybe, that’s the only thing that makes today an _almost_ perfect day only.

Because as he gets ready to leave the house, a few hours before his shift, Baekhyun can’t help but let his eyes linger on his best friend, and notices just a little nervousness in his movements, and it feels out of place.

Baekhyun worries.

Even when Jongdae looks up, his gaze softening into some kind of, “ _Don’t worry about me, Baekhyun-ah,_ ” kind of look, as he throws his friend one of his characteristics curled-lipped smiles, there’s something, just _something_ … it all feels odd, that’s it. And Baekhyun, well.

Baekhyun worries.

***

It’s not exactly clear, what time it is, nor what day it is, when it’s that late at night and there’s just so much going on.

Baekhyun isn’t even drunk—not _that_ drunk, anyway, just tipsy enough to feel his blood flowing in his veins, warm and making him feel alive. And there isn’t that much going on around him, either; just the remains of the mock party Junmyeon decided to throw himself for Yixing’s birthday, despite not knowing him for that long, just because it seems as though Junmyeon is just that kind of person—the kind who does things out of the pure goodness of his heart, for no reason and without asking anything in return. It wasn’t too big of a deal, either, but it was something—many guests tagged along, and so did Minseok. Jongdae was absent, having a shift at the tavern that night.

Baekhyun is thankful, especially since he thinks, too, that Yixing deserves that party.

A party which is now dying out, with only a few tenants remaining in the common room of Junmyeon’s guesthouse. The strong smell of alcohol and smoke takes Baekhyun about four months back in time, and despite being in a different setting right now, the sight that unfolds before him is so painfully familiar that it steals his breath away.

Next to him, warm and solid and undoubtedly giggling, sits Yixing, who’s had way more soju than Baekhyun has consumed in the past four weeks or so. Still, Yixing isn’t that drunk, probably because he isn’t a lightweight like Baekhyun might be, and so even though his speech is slurred and languages get mixed up in his mouth, and despite his slightly uncoordinated movements, Baekhyun has a feeling Yixing is still very lucid and as close to being sober as he is, in that head of his.

They’re probably sitting too close for two men, no matter how close a pair of friends they might argue to be, but fortunately, if anyone asks, they can blame it on the alcohol. Anyway, the three or four remaining guests in the common room are just as wasted, if not more, so it’s not as though they could really think anything, even less draw conclusions.

When Yixing’s fit of giggles resumes, Baekhyun can’t help but smile. “Why are you laughing so much?”

With a content smile, Yixing answers. “Today was…” Another sigh, before Yixing brings his hand up, thumb in the air. “Awesome. The best. You’re the best, Baekhyun.”

“You’re saying nonsense,” Baekhyun laughs, although it’s hushed with how low their voices have gotten. They’re sitting so close, on a couch that could sit three or four, Yixing’s head constantly lolling to the side to fall on Baekhyun’s shoulder. He also has his knees brought up to his chest, and it makes him look so small it makes Baekhyun’s heart ache.

And now that he scrunches up his nose in a childish way, lips pouting, the picture he makes gets even more ridiculously adorable. “I know what I’m saying. Honestly. Today was the best birthday of my life. And it’s all thanks to you.”

Baekhyun truly would like to say he’s gotten used to Yixing’s constant sweet comments, but he’s lying to himself if he doesn’t admit that he doesn’t get stupidly flustered each time it happens, even after all this time. “If it made you happy, then I’m glad.”

“You make me happy.”

“You’re being disgusting again.”

“But you—”

“Don’t say it.”

“— _absolutely_ love it, Baekhyun-ah!”

Playfully, Baekhyun shoves him off, but still catches his arm just in time to pull him back in. It’s shameful, really, how he can’t go without Yixing’s presence, even for just a moment.

When Yixing offers him his palm, Baekhyun takes it gleefully, interlacing their fingers almost by instinct. “Really though,” Yixing says after a moment, tone a little more serious despite his slow speech. “Thank you for making this birthday the best.”

“You’re welcome.” Baekhyun is fine with anything as long as it makes Yixing happy.

“You know, last year, I spent my birthday in prison.”

Baekhyun stops.

The words feel so out of place, so out of the blue that Baekhyun has to make sure he actually heard right and this isn’t some weird, twisted hallucination.

When he turns to face Yixing, the latter is looking back at him, a knowing and amused smile on his lips. It’s tainted with sadness, and Baekhyun has the image of Yixing, hair shorter and messier, skin sweaty and dirty, clothes all black and torn, at the door of Mr. Lee’s bookstore.

The exhaustion pulling at his traits, the poorly hidden turmoil in his mind that showed in his eyes, they seem to resurface, if only in Baekhyun’s mind, painted over Yixing’s current thoughtful expression. He’s healthier now, and he’s changed quite a bit, Baekhyun thinks, but he is still the same man.

Still. Baekhyun is not any less curious about _who_ Yixing is—not that he doesn’t know him; Baekhyun knows so much about Yixing’s little quirks and his likes and dislikes and all of that trivia, and the deeper, more insightful things too, like his strong determination and overwhelming kindness. But Baekhyun is still clueless as to what made Yixing into the person he’s become, what he’s gone through, how he ended up here, in Korea, far away from that home of his.

Definitely, Baekhyun had not even imagined prison counting amongst Yixing’s life experiences.

“You went to jail. You. Seriously.”

The sigh that escapes Yixing is much heavier than the previous, but his thoughtful smile remains in place. He leans more into Baekhyun, his hair tickling the skin of Baekhyun’s chin. “I didn’t kill anyone, or anything. You could say I didn’t deserve to be there.”

“So how did you end up there, then?”

“I was at the wrong place, at the wrong time,” Yixing says. His voice is more sober now, even though his body is lax against Baekhyun’s, and his tone is rather hushed. “A popular revolt, in Shanghai. Everyone just kept losing their jobs, and I guess they got sick of it. I wasn’t one of them, though. I just happened to be there.”

“What were you doing, back then?” asks Baekhyun. This is the only time, he feels like, when he can truly ask those questions that used to torment him almost, without holding back.

Yixing half laughs, half snorts. “I was a little like Jongdae,” he muses. “Young and stupidly idealistic. The thing is, I wasn’t even sure what I was fighting for. Or maybe, I did; it’s just… It didn’t lead to anything I would have hoped.” A chuckle. “But I guess that doesn’t answer your question. Or anything, really.”

Maybe not, but it’s more than Baekhyun has had in the past six months or so. “I don’t mind.”

“I used to do a couple things, here and there. I taught Mandarin in primary for a short while, in like 1945, or something. Anyway, I was kicked out because I was doing a terrible job—it was impossible for me to focus with the kids around. Baekhyun, they were so cute…”

Baekhyun laughs softly. “Of course you got kicked out.”

“I guess so. Ah, that was nice, though. And then, for the longest time, I worked a couple of jobs, in stores, bars, that sort of thing. Trying to get by, you know? And I would start talking about whatever freedom nonsense to whoever was willing to listen.”

“Nonsense?”

Yixing grimaces. “It isn’t nonsense. But… I guess I was deceived a lot. I’ve seen a lot of people die, you know. Communists. Nationalists. But also old men, women; mothers and their children. It didn’t take me long before I decided to remain as irrelevant and subtle as I possibly could. But that did not work out quite well.”

“That’s when you got arrested, right?”

“That’s right,” Yixing nods. “Even as I was trying to escape the war, the conflicts, the ideologies—it’s like they were all coming back at me. I realized I was part of it whether I liked it or not, just by living and breathing in China. Just by being Chinese. You know what I mean?”

Baekhyun knows. He hates to admit it to himself the most—the fact that no matter what he thinks of whatever is going on right now, in Korea, he has no choice but to pay attention, to care, because whether he feels as though he belongs there or not does not change the fact that this is his home. This is the only land he’s ever known.

Whether he liked it or not, just like Yixing said, he was involved in this mess, despite not making sense of it.

“I got caught up in those crowds of protesters and ended up in jail,” continues Yixing. “September 5th, 1947. About a month later, it was my birthday. Funny how things turned out, a year later, right?”

“Good thing they turned out that way,” says Baekhyun, sincere. Just the mere thought of Yixing in prison was enough to send unpleasant chills down his spine.

“I’m quite happy about that, too, if I’m honest,” Yixing sighs.

“How did you get out, though?” Baekhyun further asks. “I mean, you’re here now, right?”

“I had a few connections, from small groups I had come across here and there,” Yixing explains. “With their help, I managed to escape, in late February. But that made me a fugitive, so. Definitely not something I’d recommend. But I was alive, and free, so I had to risk it. It took me all of March to travel to Weihai, where I took a ferry to Incheon. After that, I had no money, and I was carrying with me clothes and belongings that weren’t even my own. They were all a cover, for the trip and everything. And now, here I am.”

“Prison, and now this?” Baekhyun retorts, shocked. “Honestly, what _are_ you?”

Yixing’s expression suddenly changes, becoming much more lucid and matching the gravity of his words. “An ex-convict who’s still supposed to be rotting in jail, and a runaway at that. A criminal, in other words. Romantic, isn’t it?” Yixing scoffs, but he doesn’t find it funny.

Baekhyun squeezes their laced hands. “Yixing,” he murmurs, “I didn’t mean to upset you. If I found it really that revolting, I wouldn’t still be here, listening, right?”

Yixing hums slowly, his body relaxing slowly at Baekhyun’s words. “I must be lucky,” he says.

“I suppose so,” Baekhyun replies, squeezing their hands once again.

“Do you know how I learned Korean?” suddenly continues Yixing. “I started in Shanghai, actually. You wouldn’t guess just how many Korean soldiers from the North roam the country. Although I wouldn’t agree with their reason for being there, I was no one to say anything, right? Especially out in the open. So instead, I decided to learn from them the one thing I couldn’t get anywhere else in China: their language.”

“Why?”

“I guess it’s some sort of… power? Knowledge, you know. Of course, it’s not like I could use a language against anyone, but still. I enjoyed it, somehow. Good thing I did, though. I didn’t think I would end up here, but I’m glad I can manage.”

“It’s almost like you were meant to be here.”

Yixing snorts. “Are you trying to tell me something, Baekhyun-ah?”

Baekhyun smiles. “Maybe. But really, though. It _is_ kind of crazy.”

“I guess so…” Another sigh. “I’ve come a long way, haven’t I?”

“To be completely honest, just listening to you talk about all those things was exhausting,” Baekhyun says. “I have no idea how you went through it all.”

“Neither do I,” Yixing shrugs. He moves closer into Baekhyun’s space, breathing in deeply, before continuing. “Probably, meeting you first after crossing Seoul helped a bunch.”

“I had no idea what you went through, though,” Baekhyun murmurs.

“And it was better that way—I didn’t get any pity from you, nor was I misjudged, or anything. You, and Jongdae, and Minseok, you treated me like an equal. I knew you had questions, but you chose not to ask them. You chose to trust me.” Then, Yixing makes a little move with his head; had he not been leaning into Baekhyun, the latter thinks Yixing would have tilted his head a bit. “Although, come to think of it, that was definitely not careful of you.”

“We’ve never been good with careful,” Baekhyun muses. “I’ve always been too trusting. Jongdae is too reckless. And Minseok-hyung is too kind.”

The guesthouse. The flames that destroyed them, that most probably were caused by a misunderstanding of values that Minseok cherishes but many simply cannot comprehend: acceptance, tolerance.

“That’s what makes you good people, the three of you,” Yixing replies. “You’re understanding and caring. Jongdae is passionate and determined. And Minseok is just and fair. Your weaknesses are also your strengths, remember that.”

“You know, you’re rather wise for a drunk birthday boy.” Baekhyun closes his eyes, lets his head fall on top of Yixing’s. Having cut off his sight completely, the smells seem to have gotten stronger, and Yixing’s voice in his ears sounds richer, louder.

“Nonsense. I’m always wise. You’ve only just noticed, that’s all.”

“Is that so?”

“Mmh. I’m older than you, remember? I’m the wise one, by default.”

After that, Baekhyun isn’t sure what he says; with the liquor in his bloodstream and Yixing’s warmth encompassing him, sleep takes over him slowly, then all at once, a smile still pulling at his lips, his mind a little more at peace.

 

 

***

 

 

***

_Je devrais avoir mon enfer pour la colère, mon enfer pour l'orgueil—et l'enfer de la caresse ; un concert d'enfers._

***

The first time it happens coincides with Yixing’s birthday, actually.

Jongdae comes home not in the early morning hours right after his shift, as he usually does, but in the middle of the afternoon, to the panic and mild annoyance of both his best friends and their host.

Junmyeon might be more annoyed at the fact that Minseok has been throwing a tantrum ever since he’s noticed Jongdae’s absence—and has obsessively been worrying since—but Baekhyun still sees something in the manager’s expression that tells him that he, too, was concerned.

To Baekhyun, this feels like a terrible confirmation of his small doubts, of something he’s wanted to ignore for a few weeks now.

Jongdae is far too reckless for his own good, far too involved in those conflicts going on in the streets and wherever else, and knowing his go-ahead personality and tendencies to always do more than he has to, Baekhyun worries.

Especially as Jongdae isn’t even meeting their eyes, cheeks red from the cold, clothes dirty and smelling of smoke stronger than the already present scent of the room, standing on uneasy feet that speak of guilt.

Baekhyun doesn’t want Jongdae to look guilty—he needs him to say that their suspicions, their annoyance (or at least, Baekhyun’s) are unjustified and misplaced. “ _This isn’t what you think_ ,” or something. Baekhyun needs something.

Something Jongdae apparently can’t give him.

The second time it happens is not even a week later, when Jongdae leaves early on a day when he doesn’t even have a shift at night. When he comes back around 11 that night, Minseok is waiting in the common room, and Baekhyun can hear his yelling from Yixing’s and Jongdae’s room upstairs, despite not being able to discern his words.

He does hear, however, the furious and clear “ _But you don’t even care about all this!_ ” that Jongdae intones loudly. Most likely, the entire guesthouse heard it.

Silence falls after that, and Baekhyun hurries back to his room, away from Yixing’s side who’s looking at him with wide eyes, when Jongdae’s angry footsteps can be heard approaching the second floor.

An hour later, Yixing comes into the room, sitting down on the floor, facing Baekhyun who has his back against the wall and his knees up against his chest.

“Baekhyun-ah.”

“Where’s Minseok-hyung?”

“I don’t know,” sighs Yixing. “But Baekhyun—”

“How’s Jongdae?”

Another sigh. Baekhyun is staring right into Yixing’s eyes, who are grave but also a little sad, like he understands Baekhyun but he also knows this isn’t something he has any control over. “He’s fine. He’s sorry, too.”

“He doesn’t have…” Baekhyun can’t bring himself to say it, can’t utter the words, because he doesn’t believe them. So instead, he asks, “Did he tell you anything? What is he up to? What is he doing?”

In an ideal world, Baekhyun would be asking this directly to Jongdae. But worry and fear of being proven right keeps him from doing that.

Yixing nods. “He told me a few things.”

When Yixing stays silent, Baekhyun sighs. “Oh.”

“Baekhyun,” starts Yixing, “You can’t blame him for anything; you know that, right?”

“He shouldn’t be doing this.”

“You don’t even know what he’s doing.”

“Are you gonna tell me?”

When Baekhyun raises his eyebrows, insisting, Yixing licks his lips, lowers his gaze. “He told me he was hosting a talk, today. It was nothing, just a few people at a bar. Or so he says.”

It would explain the smell of smoke, but not the dirty clothes. “Is he fighting, you think?”

Yixing shrugs. “I wouldn’t know. You have known him longer than I have, so I’d suppose you’d know better.”

See, that’s the thing. Baekhyun worries _because_ he knows Jongdae, _because_ he knows that despite being against violence and despite the fact that most of the time, he praises peace and denounces all the repressive rebellions that erupt all across the country, he won’t shy away from fighting, from using his fists, from proving his point.

When he speaks again, Baekhyun’s voice is lower than he himself anticipates. “What if one day, something happens? What if, one day…”

As soon as Yixing wordlessly opens his arms, Baekhyun chooses not to finish his sentence, hurrying to bury himself in Yixing’s embrace. The warmth surrounding him now does little at untying the knot in his stomach, but at least, it’s something.

***

The last time it happens, it goes differently.

It’s always like that, with firsts and lasts. They’re distinct, different, and definitely memorable, whether it be good or awful.

This last time doesn’t fall on the good side—not when a police officer’s steps pound loud across the wooden floor of the common room of the guesthouse, before his raspy voice intones across the room, “Kim Junmyeon-ssi!”

Baekhyun is watching from the far back of the room, seated across Minseok, Yixing already asleep upstairs. It’s around midnight, on the 20th, and at this time, few guests stay around. Minseok and Baekhyun are the only ones in the room, with Junmyeon just now coming out of his own residence, at the end of the hall.

“Kim Junmyeon-ssi?” the officer asks again, his voice now lower in tone but still sending chills down Baekhyun’s spine.

It’s the first time Baekhyun sees Junmyeon like this, too—awfully serious, almost terrifyingly so, far from the kind and just image he usually gives off. He’s almost menacing, in a way that speaks of authority and responsibility, without seeming bad, or hurtful. He’s imposing, like that; his stance implies respect.

Junmyeon nods slowly, approaching the officer on steady feet. “That’s me.”

After throwing a look at the manager, the police officer extracts a paper from the inside of his pocket. “Here’s a copy of Kim Jongdae-ssi’s warrant of arrest. He referred this place as his address, which means there’ll be an investigation that will proceed here. Please understand, Kim-ssi, that we must also take over your establishment.”

Baekhyun freezes. Across from him, Minseok’s mouth is open, eyes shaking.

_Here’s a copy of Kim Jongdae-ssi’s warrant of arrest._

_Kim Jongdae-ssi’s warrant of arrest._

_Kim Jongdae. Arrest._

Junmyeon manages to keep his calm, although he’s now frowning, a little worryingly. “Warrant of arrest, you said?”

The officer nods. “Kim Jongdae-ssi was one of the protesters in favour of the fights that broke out in Yeosu since yesterday.”

Baekhyun can’t stay silent any longer. “E-excuse me, what?” he asks, running to stand next to Junmyeon. Minseok follows closely.

It’s with raised eyebrows that the officer turns to Baekhyun. “And you are?”

“His friend. What did you say he did?”

The officer frowns at Baekhyun’s words. “Why should I tell you? As far as I know, I might as well be wary of you too—”

“Answer him,” Junmyeon says. He’s looking at the officer with the same grave expression as earlier, although it seems more pronounced, somehow. Baekhyun doesn’t even dare move. “After all, Kim Jongdae-ssi is one of my guests. I should know what he was out doing, too.”

The officer swallows visibly, before sighing loudly. “A protest broke out near the Han River, organized by Communist rebels, in an area that is predominantly favoured by allies to the government. It was all planned by those rebels, you know, to create as much of a fuss as possible, and Kim-ssi was one of them—”

“That’s impossible,” Minseok mutters next to Baekhyun. The officer rolls his eyes, but Minseok still continues. “Jongdae isn’t like that. He wouldn’t—”

“That’s something he’ll have to prove in court,” cuts the officer with an air of annoyance. “That is, if he’s alive by the time he gets there—”

“You fucking bastard!” yells Minseok, already throwing himself at the officer.

Fortunately, Junmyeon catches his arm and yanks him backwards, Minseok stumbling before steadying his feet. He doesn’t try anything this time, but Baekhyun feels his bloodstream get icy at the threatening look his friend is throwing at the police officer.

“Where is he detained?” Junmyeon demands.

“Near the Han River. Visits are not allowed—”

“Thanks,” Junmyeon interrupts. “We’ll come by tomorrow.” He then proceeds to bow curtly, signifying the end of their exchange.

The officer pursues his lips, before nodding at the three of them and leaving the building.

“Fucking bastard,” Minseok utters again, but this time, it’s weak, and Baekhyun knows Minseok isn’t talking about the leaving officer.

“We’ll go tomorrow,” Junmyeon says with a firm voice, but softer and kinder than it had been just moments before. “Both of you, get some sleep. It’ll do nothing to worry now.”

Sleep? Junmyeon’s funny.

“Hyung,” Baekhyun says, “can we go now? What if they do something to him—”

“We can’t,” simply says Junmyeon, but the tone of his voice doesn’t allow for any more questions. “I can’t guarantee what they’ll do or won’t do to him, and I’m sorry about that. But we’ll go there first thing in the morning. Now just sleep. You’ll need it.”

The thing is, Baekhyun is sure that there’s very little chance he’ll get even a wink of sleep tonight. Fear is making a home in his guts at an alarming rate, his worries only amplifying it to the point where he can’t even breathe properly.

When he makes it to the second floor, he bypasses his and Minseok’s room to enter Yixing’s, where he sits down on Jongdae’s messy blankets.

There are no blankets in jail. Baekhyun knows that much.

There’s also no kindness spared to prisoners, not in those times. Jongdae is alone, and Baekhyun is terrified.

“Yixing,” he says. He only just notices his tears as they choke up his throat and blur his vision in the dark of the room. “Yixing, what if…”

The tears take over, and Baekhyun can’t speak. Instead, he decides to lie down, staring at Yixing’s soft sleeping face, constantly wiping away his tears as he does so, his only anchor in this nightmarish night.

 

 

***

 

 

 

***

_Par quel crime, par quelle erreur, ai-je mérité ma faiblesse actuelle ?_

***

“Hyung?”

“Mmh?”

“How did we end up here?”

They’re sitting next to each other, shoulders pressed against the other, the room unlit and plunged in the early morning dawn light. They haven’t slept at all; Minseok had joined Baekhyun in Yixing’s and Jongdae’s room not long before Baekhyun had come in himself, and they spent the entire night talking, or just staying there, motionless and silent, but still thinking, not sleeping.

Minseok has his eyes closed, head thrown back and leaning against the cold wall behind him. Baekhyun is still looking at Yixing, asleep and peaceful and it’s so odd how his calm state doesn’t fit with anything right now.

Upon coming in, Minseok had stayed frozen in place at first, before picking up Baekhyun from the floor and pulling him up. It was only then that Baekhyun noticed he had a hard time breathing, that his eyes were so swollen it was hard to blink, that he probably wasn’t as fine as he thought himself to be.

Jongdae’s absence was, and still is, deafening in the room.

Minseok had dragged him towards the wall, had pulled him down so that Baekhyun had his head in his lap, and they had stayed there for a good hour, until Baekhyun had calmed down. It crossed his mind, at some point, that Minseok acting that way towards him was a relief. At least, in times like these, he still had his hyung by his side, no matter what.

Baekhyun hates it, how his weaknesses show more than anyone else’s, in those times. He hates how he’s rarely the one who comforts, but instead the one who needs comfort.

It’s been hours now, but the air in the room still feels heavy, and although they’re whispering, their words ring too loud in the small space.

“What do you mean?” asks Minseok, still not opening his eyes. Each of his words sounds dragged out, painful to let out.

“How did we end up like this?” repeats Baekhyun.

Where has the bookstore gone? The guesthouse? The fields, the tavern, all of what they’ve known their entire lives? It all feels like a faraway dream that is now out of Baekhyun’s reach completely. None of it even feels real at all anymore, and it’s not like his current reality is in any better condition.

Minseok’s sigh almost sounds like a rush of wind, and Baekhyun can almost feel it tickle his skin. “I don’t know. No one would have known. Just like, four years ago, none of us would have known we’d make it out alive from Japan. Remember?”

“Of course I remember,” Baekhyun mutters.

But this isn’t Japan—this is Korea; this is his home and Jongdae’s and Minseok’s, and Yixing’s newfound refuge; this shouldn’t be happening. Baekhyun refuses to abdicate to war that hasn’t even begun; he refuses to lose more than he already has.

He can’t lose Jongdae, not like this.

They can’t lose each other, ever.

“I hate this so much,” Baekhyun hisses. “I hate that this is happening. I hate that I know he’s not even in jail for something he’s done—”

“You don’t know that.”

“Hyung, you know as well as I do that Jongdae wouldn’t side with Communists overnight. Just like you know as well as I do that he’s been unjustly imprisoned—or at least, that there’s some explanation to this, right?”

Something, _something_ has to make sense, out of this mess.

Minseok lets his chin fall against his chest before sighing deeply once again. “Of course I know that. Of course. I just…”

He falls silent, and Baekhyun understands him, somehow. They do that a lot, lately—understand each other without a word being said; just through their silences, sighs, and the sentences that hang in there figuratively between them.

It’s out loud, though, that Baekhyun asks, “We’ll get him out of there, right, hyung? We must, yeah?”

“We must.”

Baekhyun looks back at Yixing, who’s slightly pouting in his sleep. “Yeah, we must.” Before silence settles in again in the room, Baekhyun asks, “Should we tell him?”

It’s a sudden thought that comes to him, that startles him as much as it suddenly becomes obsessively important. He needs to protect Yixing—to keep him from getting hurt, once again, by something he has no control over.

Minseok turns sharply to look at him, eyes wide. Baekhyun doesn’t have to face him to know, anyway. “Aren’t you planning to?”

A shrug. “I am. I was. I guess we should, right?”

“Baekhyun,” Minseok says, and his tone is more serious, sounding less sleep-deprived than it did for the entire night. “Why on earth wouldn’t you tell him _that_? It’s not like we can keep Yixing out of this. Or out of anything, at this point, really,” he adds, with something like a scoff.

“I wish we could.” Yixing has gone through so much—too much, even. “Just this once.”

Maybe sparing him that one little thing, that one painful memory, would be doing him a favour—something Baekhyun feels as though he hasn’t given Yixing enough of.

“Idiot,” Minseok mutters. “You don’t know what you’re saying. It’s not like we can keep this from him—Jongdae is in _jail_ , Baekhyun. Not only his absence is kind of fucking obvious, but we’ll need all the help we can get to get him out of there.”

Yixing might be the most useful help they can get. Most likely, having gone through this before will surely come in handy, even just for now.

Baekhyun hates to think of it.

“Hyung.”

“Mmh?”

“How did we end up like this?”

Baekhyun doesn’t blame Minseok for the long, exasperated sigh he lets out. “Go figure, Baekhyun.”

***

“Baekhyun. _Baekhyun_.” A shake of his shoulder, the flutter of his own eyelids opening, the sharp pain that comes with the early morning sunlight hitting the back of his eyes.

When Baekhyun’s vision focuses, he sees Yixing kneeling in front of him, eyes slightly red-rimmed that send a jolt of panic down Baekhyun’s spine. Sleep leaves his body at once, washed away by an icy wave of a dreadful feeling that leaves him shivering.

“Yixing,” he starts, reaching for Yixing’s hands almost as a reflex. It’s obvious, looking at him, at the tired lines of his face that he knows, knows everything, and that there is no need for Baekhyun to even attempt to hide anything.

Nothing would have prepared him for Yixing’s words, though. “Baekhyun. I’m so sorry.”

Confusion starts clouding Baekhyun’s thoughts. He’s still not properly awake, his eyes still feeling heavy despite the very short amount of sleep he’s gotten. “I—what the hell are you talking about? What are you sorry for?” Could it be… “Yixing, did something happen to Jongdae?”

Tears well up in Yixing’s eyes. This must be a nightmare; it wouldn’t be the first Baekhyun has had, because it’s too early and it’s too painful for this to be real.

 _God_. This doesn’t make any sense.

However, Yixing shakes his head, before breathing deeply. It does little to calm him down, though. “No. Well, I don’t know, but… I’m sorry, about everything. It’s all my fault, isn’t it? I know you’ll tell me it isn’t, but I’m sorry…”

_It’s all my fault, isn’t it?_

There it is.

All of Baekhyun’s apprehensions, the fear that Yixing might have been carrying a burden Baekhyun either wasn’t aware of or couldn’t bring himself to see—all of it is unfolding before him, too fast and too real for either of them to backtrack.

“No,” Baekhyun lets out, breathless. “No, Yixing, please listen to me—”

The smile Yixing gives him is not the stunning, dimpled grin Baekhyun loves. It’s sad, devoid of any trace of happiness. “The guesthouse. It burned because of me. You had to move because of that, and I followed. Had we not moved, had none of this happened, Jongdae wouldn’t be stuck in jail. You know that.”

“That’s not… No. You’re saying nonsense,” Baekhyun says, shaking his head. He grips Yixing’s hands tightly, forcing him to look him straight in the eyes.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Yixing, for God’s sake. Of all people—fuck, you can be so…” Baekhyun needs to make sense of his thoughts. He needs to tell Yixing. “You’re really insane, you know that? Thinking that all of this is your fault. Things happen, Yixing—you told me that yourself. Things happen, and lead to different paths. Had you not left your hometown, had you not been jailed yourself and escaped and found your way here—”

“But _that’s what I’m saying_ ,” insists Yixing. Baekhyun is so close to slapping him. “Then, none of this would even be happening. Had we not met each other—”

“So is this really what you want?” Baekhyun risks, boldly. He hopes to God he’s right about the answer. “Would you rather we had never met?”

Another life, in which Yixing would have never stepped a foot in Korea. Baekhyun wouldn’t have welcomed a stranger in his shop, some evening in April; Minseok wouldn’t have had a new guest that night. The three of them would have stayed as they used to be—three childhood friends who have gone through so much, shared so much, but were still missing something.

Another friend, perhaps. Although Baekhyun knows that to him, Yixing is more than that. Baekhyun would have lived his life, convinced he was something he simply could never be. He would have lived without really knowing how love can be so fulfilling, so powerful, tracing back roots into the deepest of his heart only to latch him onto someone else, who needs and loves him just as desperately.

Baekhyun shouldn’t be having these thoughts. They shouldn’t be having this conversation.

Yixing halts, his eyes wide and searching Baekhyun’s. It’s a heartbreaking sight, and Baekhyun scolds himself for letting things getting to that point—to the point where Yixing is doubting himself, doubting everything, putting the blame on himself behind the strong front he had been putting forth all this time for Baekhyun’s sake, and everyone else’s.

Maybe Yixing had needed comfort all this time, as much as Baekhyun did, too.

“Baekhyun-ah,” says Yixing, voice softer, almost inaudible now. It’s shaky, slightly scared. Sorry. “You’re… You’re the best thing to ever happen to me. Definitely. But I don’t think I am the same to you.”

Ouch. _Ouch._

Somehow, Baekhyun knows what Yixing means—it’s there, somewhere, the reason that tells him that Yixing is just incredibly vulnerable right now, and that most of what he’s saying is the fruit of his amplified fears. However, Baekhyun can’t help but feel the words punch his guts with force, making him almost flinch physically as if he were actually hit.

“Shut up,” Baekhyun spits. It’s getting harder to breathe. “Yixing, just—don’t you ever fucking say that, ever again.” Baekhyun’s hold on Yixing’s wrists must be unbearably painful, but Baekhyun doesn’t budge, and Yixing doesn’t mention it. “You have no right to say that, no right to assume anything. If I say you’re the best thing to ever come my way, then that’s the way it is. Whatever happened happened, and _none of this is your fault_.”

Yixing closes his eyes, and Baekhyun desperately wants to see the fight leaving him, doubts and regrets weighing him down for one last moment before they slowly give way to relief and defeat.

Seeing Yixing so open, in a way that isn’t full of love and trust but instead stricken with fear and doubt, is as painful as it is unusual. It’s not something Baekhyun wants to see, ever again.

Words are hard to grasp, but he tries again, for Yixing’s sake.

“You are, you know. The best thing to ever happen to me. And if I were to do it all over again,” Baekhyun adds, “I would. All of it.”

Yixing doesn’t look up to him. His voice is shaky, his hands only stable due to the warmth and hold of Baekhyun’s firm ones. “But you were hurt because of me.”

 _No, no, no. God, no_. “Absolutely not. I was never hurt _because_ of you. In fact, I probably hurt less, thanks to you.”

Silence stretches following Baekhyun’s words, only disturbed by the loud sound of Yixing’s laboured breathing in the space between them. Seconds drag into minutes, and not once does Baekhyun look away from Yixing’s despaired expression, only hoping to see it ease a little.

It’s after a long moment that Baekhyun can feel himself breathe a little more properly.

“I’m sorry,” Yixing says one last time, but his tone is conclusive. He doesn’t have anything left to say.

The moment left as fast as it came, but it’s still distasteful and mockingly fresh amongst Baekhyun’s thoughts.

Baekhyun never, ever wants it to happen, again.

Without a word, Baekhyun takes Yixing in his arms, trying to convey all his gratitude in his embrace. “Come on, now. You’re fine. It’ll be fine.”

“Really?” Yixing murmurs against the skin of Baekhyun’s neck.

“Really really.” Baekhyun licks his lips. “Jongdae needs us. We’ll get him out of there.” It’s not just Jongdae, though. In times like these, they need each other—in every way, and there’s no way Baekhyun will let Yixing blame himself for anything, or drift away. They’re in this together. “It’ll be fine.”

It’ll be fine.

***

The walk to the police station is execrably long. Or maybe it just seems that way to Baekhyun.

Walking the streets of Seoul is nothing like it was only a few days before, nor is it the same as walking the roads of his village. Scarce crowds shape themselves at the entrance of shops and restaurants, but rather than looking inviting in their novelty, they just look startlingly unfamiliar, out of place in the turmoil of thoughts in Baekhyun’s mind. Although the sun is out and warms up the autumn air, Baekhyun’s bones are icy cold.

Nothing fits. Nothing makes sense.

When they reach the Han River, that unsettling feeling only grows. The area is vast, scarce buildings standing up against the picture the water makes. The crowds here are fewer, and poorer. Nature has a greater presence here, high herbs covering the shore, dozens of feet below where they stand. With the sun reflecting itself on the water of the river and the low murmur of the wind, the image the scene makes is almost too beautiful to be real. Unfairly beautiful, at that.

The station is located within the more urban parts of the area, closer to the city rather than the river. The red bricks of the building have long lost their colour, fading to an ugly, deteriorating brown. Inside, not much is different—the front desk is nothing but a mere table, papers thrown around dismissively by the man seating behind it.

Somewhere, in there, Jongdae stands, or maybe he’s sleeping. As long as he’s safe and sound, Baekhyun prays.

“We’re here to see Kim Jongdae-ssi,” announces Junmyeon. It’s the first words Baekhyun has heard from any of the four of them, since they left the guesthouse.

Junmyeon’s posture is determined. Baekhyun, Yixing, and Minseok are standing behind him. Minseok has his head low, jaw set. Yixing shows a similar allure; however, his hands are shaking where his fingers are interlaced, and he won’t stop licking his lips nervously.

This doesn’t look good, not at all—Baekhyun is torn between wanting to reach for Yixing or break down in tears.

He can’t afford to do neither.

“We heard he was detained here, since yesterday,” Junmyeon continues. The man behind the desk is not even sparing a look towards their group.

“We don’t welcome visitors.”

“We happen to be here, though,” Junmyeon insists. Baekhyun silently praises his courage.

The man remains unfazed, eyelids heavy and attitude nonchalant. Arrogance oozes off of him. Baekhyun wants to spit on his face.

“Yah, young man. I told you we don’t take in visitors in here, understood? So if you’d kindly head out before I—”

“Before you what?” Minseok interjects. “My _brother’s_ in here. Let me see him, or I swear—”

“Or what?” the man raises an eyebrow. A smirk is playing on his lips. Baekhyun feels sick. “What is it you can do, you bastard? See here, you’re at a police station. One little mistake, and I’m locking you up with your friend.”

“You fucking—” Minseok starts, but Baekhyun reaches for his arm.

_Hyung. Enough._

Minseok closes his mouth, swallows. He shrugs off Baekhyun’s arm, exhaling loudly through his nose.

“I’m sure we can find common ground, yeah?” Junmyeon says. His voice is still steady, still firm. Baekhyun wonders how he does it. “We’re not here to cause trouble.”

The man rolls his eyes. He scratches his chest through his dirty shirt before he asks, “Who are you anyway? We don’t grant anything to anyone unless you’re—”

“My name is Kim Junmyeon. I was the Superintendent of the Yeongcheon division of the National Police until 1946.” From his pocket, Junmyeon produces a bronze-coloured badge, stained and worn out with time.

The badge glows faintly under the sunlight filtering through the thick windows. Baekhyun stares at it, dumbfounded.

Junmyeon is an ex-police officer. Not just an officer, in fact—an ex-superintendent, just one rank higher than an inspector, in the small town of Yeongcheon that witnessed an attack against its police station driven by over ten thousand people in 1946.

It’s not like Junmyeon is _that_ close to them anyway, so it’s not like Baekhyun should feel betrayed, or anything—it’s not exactly that. But maybe not knowing, and only learning it in such circumstances, is not something Baekhyun can quite fathom just yet.

It’s only a reminder that they’re so new to this city, that everything is still so foreign. They know so little.

There’s no time to waste thinking about that, though.

From behind the desk, the man straightens up instantly, eyes widening before frowning slightly. “Yeongcheon? A Superintendent, young as you are?” The man snorts, but he looks unsure. “Hard to believe, if you ask me.”

“I’ll make sure to identify myself properly later,” Junmyeon says, an exasperated tone to his voice. “Can you just let us see the convict?”

Baekhyun watches the man pursue his lips, staring at the badge with conflicted eyes. “Listen, I really cannot—”

“Sunbae!”

All the eyes in the room look up to find a young man coming out from the hall at the end of the small room. He’s tall and lean, his hair is cut short around his face. His eyes are sharp and his features are handsome and cold, yet the kindness he’s exerting contrasts with his looks.

“Yah, kid, you know this guy?” the man from behind the desk asks the young officer, disdain in his tone.

“Yeah, he’s my sunbae from Yeongcheon,” the young man replies. His expression eases. “He resigned soon after the incident, in 1946. Right, sunbae?”

“Oh Sehun,” Junmyeon breathes out. There’s a small, subtle smile on his lips, but it looks sad. Regretful. It’s the only hint at any emotion Junmyeon has shown since their arrival. “I didn’t know you transferred here.”

The young man—Sehun—snorts, walking in the room with more ease than he had entered it. “You left town without a word, sunbae. Just a letter of resignation on your desk. No one knew where you went, and it’s not like you tried hard to keep in touch, either.”

“Sehun-ah, I’m—”

“Spare me your apologies,” Sehun waves a hand in the air. “What are you here for anyway?”

“We’re here to see a convict, Kim Jongdae,” Minseok answers in place of Junmyeon. “Can you take us to him?”

“Ah. The new guy. Right. He just woke up. Hyungnim?” Sehun turns to the man behind the desk.

The latter is staring at the scene before him with wide eyes and his mouth slightly open. Baekhyun doesn’t blame him.

God must be on their side, or something.

“Alright, then,” the man mumbles. “Sehun-ah, you go.”

Sehun flashes them a quick smile, before he turns back towards the hall, grabbing a set of keys from the wall nearby.

When they start following him, Minseok nudges Junmyeon’s shoulder. Under the shadows of the dim hall, his eyes look careful. “An ex-police officer? Junmyeon, seriously?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Junmyeon murmurs. “Let’s go see Jongdae.”

Baekhyun steals a look at Yixing next to him. He hasn’t really had a reaction since they entered; only looked up a few times.

“Hey,” Baekhyun lets out. He brushes his hand against Yixing, who startles slightly. “Come on. It’ll be okay.”

Yixing searches his eyes, frantic and vulnerable. Baekhyun hates just how often he keeps seeing that face on Yixing lately. “Yeah.” One breath intake. As he exhales, he repeats, more assuredly, “Yeah. Let’s go.”

***

“Bastard.”

Minseok is standing against the bars, hands wrapped tight around the metal. His eyes are red-rimmed, his face is contorted in a mix of anger and relief.

Baekhyun is holding the bars with one hand, and Yixing’s arm with the other. Yixing, who is in the same posture as Minseok, but he’s still silent. His traits have hardened, and he’s staring at the ground in front of Jongdae.

Jongdae, who’s on the other side of the bars, sharing the cell with another man who’s asleep. The other convict can’t be younger than sixty years old. He’s probably only there for having stolen something. Maybe he doesn’t even belong here, just like Jongdae.

Baekhyun has long given up brushing away his tears. They now fall freely and slide against the skin of his cheeks, and he does nothing to stop them. It hurts less that way.

“I’m sorry,” Jongdae repeats for the hundredth time from where he’s seated on the concrete ground. His clothes are dirty, and the shadows on his face are accentuated. His voice is low, lacking the usual cheer it carries.

Baekhyun wants to scream.

“Stop it,” he says instead. His own voice sounds foreign to his ears. “Don’t apologize for anything. We have no time for that now anyway.”

“You bastard,” Minseok says again.

Jongdae flinches. “Hyung, listen—”

“You too, hyung,” Baekhyun insists. “Both of you, stop it.”

“Jongdae,” Junmyeon says. “We’ll get you out of there, yeah? Don’t worry.”

Jongdae wants to scoff at Junmyeon’s words. Baekhyun knows, because Jongdae just tightened his jaw, lowered his head, shrugged his shoulders.

Jongdae has been Baekhyun’s best friend for a lifetime, now. They know each other better than family.

Right now, Jongdae has less hope, less fight in him than Baekhyun has ever seen him bear. It’s frightening to the point where he’s starting to doubt everything, too.

“Are you really not going to tell us anything?” Minseok spits again. “Yah, do you know just how worried we are?”

“Hyung.” Jongdae sighs. “I’ll be fine. Just worry about yourselves, yeah?”

Minseok barks an incredulous laugh, shaking his head with an unbelieving stare to his eyes. “Do you hear yourself? Just how hard did they knock you out? How can I worry about anything when you’re rotting here, Jongdae!”

“I’ll figure it out! It’s killing me to see you guys here, you know that? It’s _killing_ me,” Jongdae breathes out. “I’m sorry I wasn’t a better friend. I’m sorry I made you worry. I’m sorry I can’t do anything about this. I’m sorry this is how it turned out. But you know what’s worse? No matter how sorry I am, nothing’s gonna change. I’m really gonna rot here, hyung. I’m really gonna die here.”

“Liar,” Minseok sobs. “Just shut up. Shut the fuck up. How can you say that, after we’ve—”

“ _Both of you, stop it!_ ” yells Baekhyun.

It’s a burning feeling—not anger, not sadness, but something stronger and more painful and more urgent—that pushes him to scream out, to let go of Yixing’s arm, to hit the bars with a force that makes the metal creak loudly and everyone around jump.

Even Yixing is shaken out of his trance, watching Baekhyun with wide eyes.

This is too much, too much. Although he knows the mess he’s just heard is just the product of his friend’s immense worry and fear, Baekhyun can’t help but despise all of it, hate Jongdae for even thinking such things—is this really what things have come to?

“Stop it,” he repeats, much lower in tone this time. “Shut up.” He turns to Jongdae, eyes on fire. “And you—don’t ever repeat those words again. We’ll find a way.”

Baekhyun has found himself dealing with those words— _I can’t, we can’t, I’m sorry, it’s my fault_ —too often in the past hours. It’s too much.

Jongdae is staring up at him with eyes that are heartbroken, apologetic. “Baekhyunnie…”

The nickname is both incredibly warm to his ears as it is heartbreaking. “Just hang in there, yeah?” Baekhyun begs. “Just… we’ll find a way. Whatever the hell happened, there has to be a way. We’ll find it.”

Jongdae swallows, tears welling up in his eyes. But he still nods, and Baekhyun can breathe.

“Baekhyun is right,” Yixing says, finally. “Jongdae, we’ll help you. You have the best friends one can hope for—you’ll get out of here.”

“Yixing—”

“And while you’re here, be nice to everyone, yeah?” Yixing adds, a sad smile on his lips. “There’s no use to picking up fights. Don’t cause trouble. You can do that, right?”

“What are you saying?” Jongdae scoffs, but there’s a slight amusement to his tone. It’s almost absent, but Baekhyun can hear it.

Yixing shrugs. His breathing is shaky, but he’s holding on well, better than he was just moments earlier, Baekhyun realizes. “Just, you know. Speaking from experience.”

Jongdae’s eyes suddenly widen, shining with something that’s undecipherable, but unbelievably relieving to Baekhyun. “Yixing, are you saying…”

The small silence that follows is broken by Sehun, who comes back in the hall with a grave expression. “I’m sorry, but this is as much time as I can allow you.”

Junmyeon doesn’t look away from Yixing as he replies to Sehun. “We’re coming, Sehun-ah. Just a moment.”

When Sehun steps away from the hall, Yixing sighs, a hopeful smile stretching over the tired lines of his face.

“You’ll make it out of here,” Yixing insists. He’s trying hard, it’s obvious, but it’s for Jongdae’s sake, for everyone’s sake, Baekhyun knows. He’s never been this proud. “Like I did.”

Jongdae nods again. “Yeah?”

Yixing turns to Baekhyun, and Baekhyun is taken aback by the sudden attention on him.

Yixing’s eyes are two pools of determination and fear, mixing together in the dark colour of his irises. There’s hope, though, and Baekhyun holds onto that.

“Yeah. You’re fine. It’ll be fine.”

***

The next day, rain pours over Seoul.

Pouring is not even an understatement, at this point—water is literally _pouring_ down from the sky, making it impossible to see past a couple meters. It splatters across the window panes of the guesthouse, and Baekhyun stares at them with a blank face. He watches droplets race down to the bottom, reaching the wooden frame of the window, before looking back up and picking two new favourites to watch glide down the glass.

The sound of the rain hitting the roof and the walls, the blurred picture the windows cast upon the streets, the low murmur of voices within the mansion, as though the weather made it difficult to be cheerful, loud, obnoxious—it all brings some sort of wicked peace to Baekhyun, something he feels he is undeserving of.

There’s no window in Jongdae’s cell. Just concrete walls and a concrete floor and metal bars. An old man to keep him company, when he isn’t sleeping or pretending to be.

Baekhyun is alone in his and Minseok’s room, but it’s nothing compared to the loneliness Jongdae must be feeling, he thinks. It’s not fair.

Jongdae, with the curved smiles and the half-moon eyes when he’s smiling—which is most of the time, his loud voice ever so cheerful and comforting. Wise and supportive and so caring. Jongdae, Baekhyun’s best friend.

“Bastard,” Baekhyun mumbles, stretching his fingers against the glass of the window next to him. The floor under his legs is icy cold from the low temperatures outside, the walls doing a poor job at keeping the heat in.

It wasn’t hard to figure out what happened, in the end—although Jongdae was determined to keep his mouth shut, Sehun did let some things slip out, like the fact that massive arrests took place that day, and that Jongdae seemingly was only at the wrong place at the wrong time. His tendencies as a speaker or as a liberal in general terms were only a mere coincidence.

Yixing’s story is strikingly, almost ironically similar.

Jongdae was in jail for no reason. That was the end of it.

Baekhyun wonders what made Jongdae stay quiet—maybe it was the fear of making them, Minseok and Junmyeon and Yixing and Baekhyun, worry over something none of them had any control over. It wouldn’t be unlike Jongdae to think as such.

“Bastard,” Baekhyun repeats. “You really had to go and get locked up, huh?”

“I can assure you it wasn’t his intention.”

Baekhyun jumps, turns to see Yixing entering the room with swift steps. When he plops down next to Baekhyun, he leans his back against the wall, staring into the room rather than through the window, like Baekhyun.

The both of them stay silent, and it’s heavy and weird in Baekhyun’s gut. It doesn’t leave until Yixing breathes deeply through his nose, letting all the air out again before speaking.

“About yesterday,” Yixing starts. His hands are fidgeting despite his calm stance, the only clue to his internal conflict. “I wanted to apologize. For being a complete mess.”

Baekhyun raises his eyebrows. He takes his hand away from the window to place it over Yixing’s cold ones, while turning to continue staring at the raindrops against the glass. “There you go again, with apologizing. I’ve heard enough of it. Coming from you, from Jongdae.”

When he turns and finds Yixing looking at him with wide eyes, Baekhyun sighs. “It’s okay. Don’t dwell over it, yeah?”

“Mmh.” Yixing’s nod is distracted, unfocused. He’s looking at the room around him without really seeing it, Baekhyun notices. It’s like he’s sorting through his thoughts, or maybe his thoughts are too loud, in his head.

Baekhyun wants to hear it, all of it.

“What’s on your mind?” he asks him, looking back at the window.

He hears Yixing lick his lips and pause before speaking again. “Remember, a while ago. Before we came here, before the guesthouse, before it got… crazy. You told me about escaping. Finding your escape. Something to just… escape the outside.”

_Before it got crazy._

An afternoon in the bookstore, with Minseok’s round spectacles sitting on Yixing’s nose. Sunrays playing hide and seek between the book-filled aisles. None of the heaviness in Baekhyun’s heart was present back then—everything was so much more bearable, so much simpler in ways he doubts he will ever experience again, not anytime soon anyway.

“I remember,” he chooses to say. “What about it?”

“It’s odd, how I feel like I don’t have any, right now. It’s like I’m stuck. Or something.” Yixing looks up, eyes a little sad, but much more thoughtful than the panicked ones he laid on Baekhyun the morning before. “It’s odd.”

A part of Baekhyun’s heart breaks, but more than that, there’s an even sadder conclusion that blooms in his mind.

Baekhyun shrugs. The rain is tracing patterns on the windows. “I think it’s the same for all of us. A lot happened, you know. I guess it’s just… a matter of perspective. We don’t see things the same way.”

They’re not looking to escape anything anymore, because everything at some point or another manages to come back and stab them in the back. It’s painful, yet it’s reality in its simplest form.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Yixing sighs. “But still. I don’t want to be, like, devoid of hope, or anything. I don’t want to feel empty, or helpless. Or like everything is my fault.”

“It’s not—”

“I know what you’re gonna say,” Yixing presses on. “I know. Now, at least. But I’m just saying.”

“You’re…” Baekhyun abandons his sentence before he really says anything. Instead, he decides to ask, “So what is it you’re trying to say?”

Suddenly, Yixing takes out his right hand from under Baekhyun’s to cover it instead. Baekhyun’s left hand is now trapped between Yixing, enveloped in his warm touch.

“Let’s escape. Just a moment, you and I. Let’s try… try to make things a little more bearable.” Yixing is still fidgety and anxious, but he continues, his voice determined despite its low, murmured tone. “I don’t want… I don’t want us to forget what’s happening now, or anything. But I don’t want us to forget that once, things were okay. And that they will be, sometime again in the future. I don’t know if that makes any sense, but…”

It does. Yixing is asking for a truce, a moment of happiness, or even less than that—just a moment of comfort, of peace, something concrete the both of them can latch onto, just for a little while. He’s begging for it as much as he can’t help but feel selfish, and Baekhyun can see it, with how nervous this whole thing makes him.

Like asking for just a moment to collect his thoughts, to feel a little better, is something he doesn’t deserve.

Baekhyun believes it’s the one thing Yixing deserves the most—the one thing he is ready to give Yixing at any time, on any day.

“What do you have in mind?”

Yixing smiles a little more, the shadow of a dimple making itself known. “Let’s sing, Baekhyun-ah. Let’s sing, together.”

Baekhyun smiles back, although there’s a knot that forms in his stomach. “Yixing… can I hum instead? I don’t really feel like singing.”

“Oh. Of course. That’s okay, too.” When Yixing squeezes Baekhyun’s hand, the latter turns to him. “Are you sure you’re okay with me… asking this?”

This time, Baekhyun smiles fondly, nodding at Yixing’s words. “Absolutely. You’re not asking for much, Yixing. It’s the least I can do.”

“Okay… okay then.” Yixing lowers his head, slightly bashful, slightly shy.

“What do you want me to sing?”

“Ah. _Arirang_ , again, please. Is that okay? I know you’ve sang it a thousand times before, so if you’d rather not—”

“Hey. It’s okay,” Baekhyun chuckles. “What’s one more time when I sang it over a thousand times already, right?”

Yixing doesn’t reply, only hides his small smile. Without waiting any longer, Baekhyun starts to sing—or hum, rather, keeping his lips pressed together, only letting his throat carry the melody.

The result is soothing, surprising even him. With the rain clicking softly against the walls and windows, and with only Yixing in the room, the sound of his breathing evening out as Baekhyun delivers the song, it’s a beautiful picture they must make.

Baekhyun feels it run through his veins, not in a terribly consuming way, but more like something that warms his limbs slowly, patiently. It’s reassuring, something he hasn’t really felt in what feels like an eternity.

The troubles they’ve been going through, they’re slowly dimming in his thoughts to let way for something more powerful, although Baekhyun can’t quite name it. He knows it won’t last long, just a short moment, but it’s there, and he loves how it feels, how it tastes.

Once he’s done with the song, it’s almost a reflex to start over again, just to keep the instance going. To drag things for a little longer.

What he doesn’t expect, however, is for Yixing to join him.

Like Baekhyun, Yixing doesn’t sing the words—most likely because he doesn’t know them, anyway. But he’s got the melody figured out, so much that at a few occasions, Yixing’s voice rises a little bit higher than Baekhyun’s, harmonizing perfectly and making Baekhyun smile broadly.

Yixing’s voice is soft, so soft, unique in its tone like Baekhyun has never heard before, something simply new and impossible to replicate being poured in every intonation of his. It’s a voice that Baekhyun has grown accustomed to, although it still manages to send shivers down his spine at times, like it does right now.

Baekhyun’s voice starts to fade, letting way to Yixing completely, who’s now carrying the melody alone. His eyes are closed, head resting against the wall behind him. Despite the dark circles under his eyes and the way his skin looks a little paler these days, he looks peaceful, beautiful, _stunning_.

It takes a moment for Yixing to realize he’s singing solo, and when he does, he stops abruptly. He opens one eye, then the other. “You’re not singing anymore?”

“You were doing a pretty good job, on your own,” Baekhyun says. “I love your voice.”

A blush makes its way to Yixing’s cheeks. “Ah, well. Thank you.”

Suddenly, almost irrationally, Baekhyun really, _really_ wants to kiss Yixing.

It’s an urge that just blooms instantly in Baekhyun, something that goes past simply wanting Yixing by his side, or craving his attention, or his touch. It’s something more, or maybe something different—Baekhyun wants to kiss Yixing, wants to give him something, anything, just to encompass him whole and try to put into his kiss just how much he loves him.

Just to let him know that no matter what happens, they have each other. They must tell each other that, right? Or show it, somehow.

Just… Baekhyun wants this, needs this.

“Yixing?”

“Mmh?”

“Kiss me.”

The words make Yixing freeze, before he turns slowly to Baekhyun. “Sorry—what?”

“I mean, you don’t have to. But I was just thinking, and I really _really_ want to kiss you for some reason, and so if you’d like—”

Baekhyun doesn’t get to finish his sentence before Yixing moulds their lips together, pressing in a rush that’s almost dizzying.

It starts as just that—their lips touching, pushing; not kissing just yet, but it sends the same exciting, invigorating energy through Baekhyun’s limbs.

He feels alive again, even for just a moment, even if it’s just for now.

An anchor when he’s lost at sea under a storm.

Then Yixing starts to move, and the kiss is adamantly sweet despite the initial urge it had initiated. Yixing’s lips are soft, so soft, slowly dragging against Baekhyun’s in a way that’s soothing him as much as it’s leaving him wanting more. Both their mouths part, tongues slightly touching, but it doesn’t go deeper than that.

The entire affair is simple, sweet; so sweet. So comforting.

Baekhyun realizes then and there that although he might have lost the guesthouse, although he might have left the village and his bookstore and everything he’s ever known, he’s found a piece of home in Yixing, something he knows he won’t ever be able to find anywhere else.

When they part, they stay close to each other, Baekhyun shifting to lean his head against Yixing’s shoulder, closing his eyes. He feels Yixing drop his head on top of his own, their breathings synchronized with the soft drumming of the rain against the window.

Their bubble of peace is gone now, reality coming back at them at a fast speed, but some of the warmth of Yixing’s lips remains hot on Baekhyun’s mouth and in his heart. He’ll take what he can get.

 

 

***

 

 

***

_Je me suis armé contre la justice. Je me suis enfui. Ô sorcières, ô misère, ô haine, c'est à vous que mon trésor a été confié !_

***

Baekhyun is startled, the first time he sees Sehun in the common room, one morning as he enters to have his morning meal.

The younger man is eating himself, a small bowl of rice sitting next to his soup. He seems oddly out of place in the house, looking more like a stranger than Yixing or any of the foreigners sharing the space. It’s not in a bad way, though—Sehun has a curious yet mischievous spark to his serious gaze, and maybe that’s what makes him stand out.

The amount of energy the man has is impressive, despite his calm allure and poised movements. Somehow, Baekhyun can all see it, feel it, just by looking at his eyes.

And although he’s intrigued by Sehun—the man himself, that is—Baekhyun can’t help but be even just slightly suspicious, slightly on his guard about the man’s presence.

When Minseok walks past him and stops abruptly in his steps, eyes locked on the police officer, Baekhyun presses a hand on his shoulder. “What do you think?”

“What is he doing here?” Minseok asks. His tone is prudent, and Baekhyun can relate.

“I would guess Junmyeon invited him over, or something.” It sounds like the most plausible answer, except…

“Junmyeon hasn’t seen this kid in two years. He purposely didn’t want to be found, but the moment Sehun crosses his path, he takes him under his wing like nothing happened?” Minseok scoffs slightly, before clearing his throat. He shakes off Baekhyun’s hand, and starts walking again. “What brings you here, Sehun-ssi?”

Baekhyun wishes Minseok had kept quiet, even just for a moment. He doesn’t feel like being noticed, just yet.

He follows him to the table where Sehun is seated, who welcomes them with a warm smile and half-moon eyes.

He’s really young, Baekhyun realizes as he helps himself with the food on the table. Maybe two years younger than he is, if not more. He definitely was too young to have fought in Japan, that’s for sure. Baekhyun almost envies him.

“Ah, just, um. Paying Sunbae a visit, I guess?” Sehun shrugs, but Baekhyun has a feeling he’s hiding something. Sehun is lowering his gaze, not exactly cutting them off completely but not exactly seeming like he wants to be approached, either.

It’s weird, to catch someone with such trustful eyes lying right up front. It feels wrong.

Minseok seems to agree, but the elder just smiles, and says, “Hope you enjoy your meal, then,” and their greeting ends there.

When Junmyeon shows up a few moments later, it’s only to fetch Sehun, and they retreat together upstairs without a word.

“That’s odd,” Minseok mumbles, staring after them. He has his chopsticks sticking up in the air, a pensive air to his face. “I don’t hate the kid, but I don’t like liars, either.”

“Maybe he had his reasons,” Baekhyun supplies, but even he knows it’s a weak excuse. Everything feels like it’s happening without either of them really knowing anything.

Even Yixing seems to know more than Baekhyun, at this point.

He stares at the rice in front of him, looking bland and tasteless despite the fact that Baekhyun hasn’t even had a bite yet. He digs in anyway, munching as he speaks again. “Has Junmyeon said anything about Jongdae?”

“He’s thinking of something,” Minseok offers. “That’s what he said. If you ask me, Sehun has something to do with it.”

It makes sense. Sehun might become a key in getting Jongdae out of prison—legally or not. “Possibly. As long as we can Jongdae out of there, I’m in.”

Minseok nods, poking at his food without eating it. He sighs, and Baekhyun sees the weight on his shoulders pressing down on him even more. It shows in other ways too, like the paleness of his skin or the tired bags under his eyes.

“How’s Yixing?” Minseok asks suddenly. He looks up to Baekhyun, an inquiring look to his eyes. “Is he coming down for breakfast?”

The question seems loaded with something else, as if Minseok is _asking_ something else, as if he knows there’s something about this entire thing that feels off.

Like how Yixing seems to spend more time with Junmyeon, speaking in hushed tones, throwing grave looks.

It’s not that Baekhyun is jealous—not like _that_ , anyway—but he hates it. He hates being kept out of the loop, like he doesn’t know enough, like this doesn’t concern him.

Like it’s not his and Minseok’s best friend, being locked up by the Han River.

The thought tastes bitter on Baekhyun’s tongue, so he shoves it aside. Minseok’s question still looms in the air, though.

“He ate already,” Baekhyun lies. “He told me not to worry about it.”

Minseok probably sees right through it, but Baekhyun is grateful for Minseok’s silence.

They keep eating in silence, a few fleeting remarks being exchanged between the two of them, but no more. Under their few words and longer pauses, there’s a mutual understanding, a shared burden that makes it easier to bear with the two of them, together.

It’s awfully reassuring to see Minseok trust him more and more, fully as he used to, despite everything that has changed and everything that has happened. It’s even more comforting to see the two of them, joining hands and growing closer despite the awful conditions of their situation. Baekhyun knows that they’re both in need of all the support they can get, and Minseok is also aware of that.

All in all, he’s just glad they’re there for each other. The way it should be.

Having Yixing is a lot—more than Baekhyun might have ever imagined—but Baekhyun has to admit that having his best friend by his side offers a different kind of comfort, a rock for him to lean on like any other. It’s different, but it’s familiar and warm.

After a moment of silence, Baekhyun speaks again through the screen of thoughts clouding his mind. “Hyung.”

“Mmh?”

“Thank you.”

Minseok raises an eyebrow at him, eyes slightly brighter than they were only moments ago. “What’s that, all of a sudden?”

Baekhyun feels a smile creep on his own lips, stretching his skin unfamiliarly, almost. He hasn’t smiled in a few days. “Just… thank you, for being my hyung.”

The snort that comes out of Minseok is humoured, and Baekhyun relaxes. “You’re really something, Byun Baekhyun.”

At that, Baekhyun fully smiles, even if it’s just for a moment.

Kim Minseok and Byun Baekhyun. Together, with Kim Jongdae, they’re the best friends in the world. They’ll be together again, Baekhyun knows it.

***

It felt odd, watching Junmyeon and Yixing leave the house without an explanation, and even though Yixing had pressed a sweet kiss on Baekhyun’s forehead that morning, it just didn’t feel right.

Baekhyun could feel Yixing’s sincere feelings through the gesture, of course, but it wasn’t the issue. It felt like a cover. As if Yixing was hiding something, even though he seemed on the verge of spilling everything.

Baekhyun has had more than enough of that not to be cautious anymore.

And so when he tells Minseok, the older doesn’t wait before grabbing his jacket and following their friends’ steps. Baekhyun tags along, shivering under his layers. October is about to give way to November in a couple days, and the weather is losing its warmth accordingly. It coincides with how things are going in a way that’s too ironic to be funny.

When they reach the station, Minseok doesn’t even spare a thought for discretion, rushing to meet Junmyeon and Sehun at the front of the doors of the building.

“Yah! Bastards, what are you doing here without us even knowing what’s going on—” Minseok starts yelling, before Junmyeon plants a hand on his mouth.

Baekhyun watches the scene as he runs towards the group. He sees the shock in his eyes being reflected in his best friend’s, wide with surprise.

With a brusque movement, Minseok grabs Junmyeon’s arm and pushes it aside. Despite the strength of the gesture, Junmyeon stands still; he’s much stronger than he looks.

“Minseok, please,” Junmyeon starts. “Just keep it low—please.” His eyes are pleading, but everything else about him screams authority, and Baekhyun almost recoils at the sight.

This is frightening, stressful. Baekhyun hates it even more since he can’t see Yixing anywhere.

“Answer me,” Minseok says, tone much lower in volume but incredibly more menacing. Baekhyun shivers as he stands next to him. “What is going on, for heaven’s sake?”

“We’re holding an intervention of sorts,” replies Sehun. He steps out from behind Junmyeon, and Baekhyun thinks he doesn’t look as young as he had a couple days ago. The young man standing before them is stable on his feet, confident and almost looking like he’s afraid of nothing. An aura of respect surrounds him, and it’s impressive, to say the least. “We’ve been preparing for this for a while now.”

“And you didn’t tell us _anything_ , did you?” Minseok continues. His eyes are shifting between Junmyeon and Sehun at a dizzying pace. “Even though it’s Jongdae in there. It’s not some guy, you know? He’s our best friend. And yet you didn’t say anything—”

“Because we didn’t want you to react like this, Minseok!” exclaims Junmyeon suddenly. Worry paints his face, and Baekhyun recognizes concern in his eyes. “This could make or break what we’ve prepared for. You’re too invested in this. And Baekhyun, too,” he adds, looking at him directly in the eye.

Baekhyun lowers his gaze, but still manages to ask, “Where’s Yixing?”

“He’s inside,” Junmyeon says. “He’s with Jongdae right now.”

“Why couldn’t it be us?” Minseok spits.

“Because if this goes wrong, then you wouldn’t have to witness it,” Sehun says. He looks almost cold, as if his confidence was slowly sucking away the warmth in his gaze. Baekhyun knows it’s probably just an impression, but it makes him shiver again.

Yixing, Jongdae, their names and faces are running around in Baekhyun’s thoughts as he listens to the words being exchanged next to him.

“I swear, if you get either of them hurt—”

“We weren’t planning anything that could get anyone hurt, Minseok.” Junmyeon’s sigh is loud in the cold air. Behind his eyes, his mind is racing at an incredible speed—even Baekhyun can notice. “Anyway, now that you guys are here, might as well just go with it.”

“What are we doing, then?” Baekhyun asks.

The question seems to breathe life back into Sehun, who straightens up with a malicious smile. “Arrest the police.”

When he goes in without another word, Junmyeon turns to them and adds, “Just stay put. That’s about as much as I can tell you.”

Baekhyun can feel Minseok tense up, meaning to protest, but the press of Baekhyun’s hand on his arm keeps him from doing so.

_Come on, hyung. Let’s go._

This is it. They’re here for Jongdae—they can’t protest. They can’t back down.

The station feels just as unwelcoming as it had the first time they had visited. The same man stands behind the front desk, but rather than looking indifferent and arrogant as he had a few weeks prior, his face is struck in fear, his breath coming out in sharp, short sobs.

Sehun is facing him, standing straight yet almost casual as he holds a revolver straight between the man’s eyes.

He really doesn’t look young anymore. He almost looks like a god, defying and dangerous and terrifying under his good looks and the smile on his lips. Baekhyun would be lying if he didn’t find him just a little incredible, awe inspiring in his stance.

“What’s this fuckery?” the man demands, but his voice is shaking so much it comes out as a whine. He looks ready to drop on his knees, beg for his life or the least bit of dignity he can still recover.

“Hyungnim,” Sehun only says. He’s still smiling, but it’s cold. “I brought friends over. Remember Junmyeon-sunbae?”

Baekhyun is at loss, watching this scene unfold before him in absolute confusion. He can hear Minseok swear under his breath, knowing he’s just as immobile as Baekhyun happens to be. With the sound of his own heartbeat thumping restlessly against his ears, it’s a miracle he can still understand the words being spoken in the room.

Junmyeon walks in slowly, leans against the desk, pressing his hands on the wood. “Kang Jinhyuk-ssi?”

The man half-nods, half-trembles. “What’s with you, huh? Don’t you know where you are?” He sounds nothing like the pretentious man in Baekhyun’s memory, voice cracking every few seconds.

Sehun scoffs, but doesn’t say a word. Instead, Junmyeon speaks again. “Kang Jinhyuk, Senior Officer of the Han River division of the National Police, and higher-up of the Labor Party. I even heard you’re good friends with Park Heonyeong, am I wrong?”

 _Oh. Oh, fuck._ It all makes sense now.

If any of what Junmyeon has just said, the man—Kang Jinhyuk—is a spy. A spy, working undercover as a police officer while serving Korea’s outlawed Communist party, and apparently acquainted with one of the members of North Korea’s cabinet and South Korea’s prior Communist figures.

Long story short, the guy is a clear opponent to the current democratic regime in the South—possibly influential as well—and having it all out in the open certainly isn’t a good thing for the officer, Baekhyun realizes. Especially not if his brilliant and seemingly dangerous subordinate is aware, along with an ex-policer officer who still seems to have enough influence to dig up some man’s past that easily.

“Am I wrong?” Junmyeon repeats, calmly. Still, Baekhyun can feel the tension in the room increase, like time has stood still since Junmyeon has started talking.

Kang Jinhyuk only stands, all the colour in his face vanished and leaving behind a pale, absolutely terrified shadow of a man. “You think you can hold that against me?” he says, but it’s so weak, lacking confidence and completely empty. It’s as if he knows, as he speaks, that yes, they could definitely hold that against him. It could ruin his life.

“Is that why you locked up my best friend, then?” Minseok suddenly says. Surprisingly, Junmyeon doesn’t stop him, doesn’t even flinch. Probably because Minseok is asking the right question. “To make yourself look good and build some sort of cover by pretending he’s Communist?”

“Even though you _knew_ he wasn’t,” Junmyeon adds. “Which, if you ask me, is definitely not the smartest thing you could have done.”

The man is shaking again, a reborn energy fuelled by his panic now moving his limbs. “So you’re gonna report me, or what? As if any of you could do anything to me… you wouldn’t guess all the people I know! I could get you killed in a jiffy!”

“Hyungnim, please,” Sehun sighs. Baekhyun almost forgot he was there. “Don’t act like you’re tough shit. It really doesn’t suit you.”

“You fucking—” The man chokes on his words when Sehun loads his gun.

A threat. Even though Baekhyun isn’t targeted, he feels just a little scared, as well.

However, his fear stems from the fact that he still hasn’t heard or seen Yixing nor Jongdae. It’s making his blood make turns in his veins.

“Junmyeon,” he hears himself say. “Junmyeon, where are they? Where’s Jongdae, where’s Yixing?”

Junmyeon doesn’t turn when he answers him. “Go. Take Minseok with you. Make sure no one gets hurt.”

Baekhyun rushes, doesn’t think twice about looking behind to see if Minseok has followed him. He trusts him enough to know he wouldn’t let him down or leave him alone anyway.

When he makes it to the back hallway, the cells lining up the walls, he sees Yixing on the floor by Jongdae’s cell, looking through the bars with a worried expression. It sends his heart jumping to his throat, making him forget about the terrible smell that lingers in the air.

Yixing seems fine, though. His clothes are dirty, and a guard lies limp a few feet away from him, as if they both got into a fight, but Yixing doesn’t seem to be hurt anywhere. The knot in Baekhyun’s gut eases just a little, some relief washing through him.

He reaches Yixing and sits by his side, and the older holds him without a word, like he could read his thoughts without Baekhyun having to say one word out loud. It feels like an apology—maybe for not saying anything, for basically lying to Baekhyun for the past few days or so—but Baekhyun soon realizes it also serves as comfort. As support.

The sight that welcomes him in the cell is only the mere shadow of the man Baekhyun has come to call his best friend, his brother. Facing him, barely holding himself up with his back against the cement wall is a thin, sick-looking Jongdae, one that sends dread rolling down Baekhyun’s spine.

The striking, painful image of Japan’s camps flashes briefly through his mind. The urge to throw up is undeniably strong.

Jongdae can barely look up to them, but he does anyway, and as he tries to smile at them, Baekhyun can feel his heart break at the sight. His breath is coming out in long, excruciating exhales, his entire body looking weak and unhealthy. He has probably been incredibly malnourished, starved even, and God knows how much water he was able to get in the past twenty-four hours.

“Jongdae…” Baekhyun startles, Minseok’s soft, broken voice resonating close. It’s only when he detaches his eyes from Jongdae that Baekhyun sees Minseok on his knees next to him, clinging to the bars, not unlike the first time they had visited him. This time, however, his hold is desperate, frantic, his entire body shaking with the concern that’s written all over his face.

“Hyung, hi,” Jongdae still replies, with a weak voice. He’s still smiling, the corner of his lips curling up beautifully as it always has despite the sad curve of his grin. “You here to see me rot, huh?”

“Crazy bastard, you fucker,” Minseok swears, and swears again. “You’re not spending one more day in this cell—I promise you.”

“Minseok-hyung—”

“Jongdae, we’re here to take you,” Baekhyun assures him, and his voice sounds hysterical despite speaking in low tones. “It’ll be okay, yeah? You’ll be okay.”

Yixing is trembling all around him, nodding vigorously, almost as if he was in the cell with Jongdae and needed to comfort himself that yes, they’ll make it out of there.

Baekhyun doesn’t ask him about the guard on the ground. He doesn’t ask anything, just brings his gaze back on Jongdae.

“Hey, I know that,” he says, like an idiot. A fucking idiot, Baekhyun thinks, but that’s his best friend. “If you wouldn’t get me out of this place, I’d die right here just to haunt your asses from the depths of hell.”

An idiot, and that’s their best friend. “You bastard,” Minseok chuckles, but he’s tearing up, his wide eyes looking even bigger as the tears create a screen over them. “You bastard.”

They’re fine. They’re going to be fine.

***

Kang Jinhyuk’s official arrest occurs on November 1st, 1948.

Jongdae was discharged way before that—on October 28th, to be exact, the day of the intervention—but Junmyeon had insisted to leave some time for the man to turn himself in.

When Sehun caught him trying to run away instead, he shot him in the leg and brought him to the National Police’s headquarters that very same day.

Upon his release, Jongdae needed immediate medical assistance, and even though Minseok’s and Junmyeon’s paired medical skills were rather remarkable, each having acquired a couple tricks after holding their own guesthouse respectively, it was not nearly enough to suffice Jongdae’s body’s needs in food and water. He was devastatingly malnourished and dehydrated, and it took him a week to recover enough to regain some autonomy.

Rather than taking him to the hospital—too much of a hassle, Junmyeon had explained—the latter instead brought in one of his friends, a young man by the name of Do Kyungsoo who had served in the Japanese army as a nurse. His experience as a soldier nurse earned him improved skills, acting more like a physician than anything. Under the man’s kind and efficient care, Jongdae was in a stable condition after a day, and was able to slowly regain his habits in almost no time.

Kyungsoo’s presence in the house was rather strange, but the man himself was great company. Intriguing with his penetrating eyes and thick heart-shaped lips, he gave away a mysterious yet approaching aura that knew how to draw Baekhyun in. Although he wouldn’t call them friends just yet, he’s ready to call Kyungsoo a good acquaintance, and maybe a friend, later, if the future allows it.

Jongdae wasn’t the only one in need of assistance, however. The experience had left all three of them—Baekhyun, Minseok, and Yixing—rather shaken, especially Yixing, who had kept silent the rest of the day, only ever offering his body as support for Jongdae to lean against, or his arms for Baekhyun to hide in.

Yixing hadn’t left Baekhyun’s side that night. They clung to each other as tight as they could allow it, falling asleep tangled in each other in a way that speaks more of a desperate need for someone by their side than anything.

It didn’t keep Baekhyun from waking up Yixing with a slight kiss to his lips, though.

Slowly, but surely, things started to fall back together. Pieces that seemed lost, or inexistent, in the puzzle they had made when making a move and leaving for Seoul, were now being found and placed accordingly.

After two weeks, Jongdae picked back up his job as a bartender with little trouble, and although Baekhyun and Minseok still made sure he makes it back home in time for the first few shifts, the change in Jongdae’s usual fiery attitude was enough to ease Baekhyun’s mind even just a little.

Spending time in jail, even only eight days, must have changed Jongdae, surely. He still had his ideas—still stood up for them, as well—but he was much more moderate, much more insightful regarding his own actions. Not just for his friends’ sake, but for his own, as well; Baekhyun could see it in the way Jongdae still seemed a little fragile, even after recovering.

Maybe the fact that it was all so shaking and distressing was what brought them—the four of them; Baekhyun, Yixing, Jongdae, and Minseok—all the more closer together. Not only is Jongdae more careful, but Minseok is also less cautious around Baekhyun and Yixing. It’s not like Minseok could resist Yixing’s good manners and sweet personality, not when the man is just too nice for his own good. Baekhyun remembers, Minseok had said so himself, a long time ago.

All of this took time—but as December came around, both Yixing and Baekhyun had found jobs of their own, and Junmyeon had taken Minseok under his wing as the co-manager of the guesthouse.

Slowly, but surely, it felt right again. They’re okay.

***

The first snow occurs on December 4th.

Big flurries swing their way down to the ground lazily, the wind carrying them and rocking them gently back and forth before they touch the soil. Skies have turned white, and a thin layer of snow covers the city. It doesn’t exceed a centimeter or two, but it’s enough to put a smile on Baekhyun’s lips.

He watches the calm spectacle from the front windows in the common room of the guesthouse, having a direct view of the small street they’re located at. The contrast between the bright white of the snowflakes as they fall against the dark background the buildings make is startlingly beautiful. It feels like watching a moving photograph, with the powerful contrast of the white against black glowing in a way Baekhyun can rarely experience.

Few passersby make their way on the streets, while most opt to stay home rather than adventuring themselves in the cold weather. The ones that do have their faces hidden under layers of knit and multiple jackets, only their eyes showing to the cold outside air. Hands shoved in their pockets, steps quick and determined, Baekhyun watches them brave the frisky air with a warm smile.

He’s missed the snow, he realizes. He hasn’t even had time to think of winter approaching at all lately, but now that the snow brightens the morning, he starts to think.

Three months of winter, rain and snow mixing each other amidst the cold. Jongdae will be the first one to catch a cold—he always is—before Minseok finally convinces him to wear “ _his damn scarf in this fucking weather of hell_.”

They’ll probably drink a lot of soju, too—alcohol provides extra warmth, after all, and it might just be an illusion explained by some science Baekhyun has never heard of, but it’s warming him up, and that’s all he’s asking for.

Seollal is also coming soon—and a great feeling of pride and excitement overflows Baekhyun as he realizes that this might be Yixing’s first Seollal in Korea. He’s aware that China welcomes the Lunar New Year their own way, and he’s ready to listen to Yixing tell him all about it for hours on end. But the prospect of celebrating and letting him discover something new, watching him fall into that loop of curiosity that has had Baekhyun fall in love with him over and over again is something he’s absolutely— _especially_ —looking forward to.

Ah, there’s that, too. The fact that Baekhyun has more or less come full circle with his affection towards Yixing—leaning on the ‘more’ side.

Although things aren’t easy—and they might never be—Baekhyun has gone through enough to know that life is too precious, too fleeting to let go of the hand in his. Being obvious is too dangerous, obviously, but inside the four walls of Junmyeon’s guesthouse, they’re in a safe place.

(Of course, Junmyeon has figured out. He’s never said it out loud, or even mentioned it. But Baekhyun has caught his quick smiles, his comical raised eyebrows and slightly sweet gestures towards the two of them to put two and two together.)

The safety that the guesthouse provides won’t last forever, Baekhyun knows. Surely, a day will come on which they’ll eventually move out to a place of their own, as continuing living amongst Junmyeon’s guest rooms is simply impossible. Although he might protest—and he probably means what he says, too—Baekhyun simply can’t let himself live off of his friend’s expenses.

Sometimes, like today, as he watches the snow fall, Baekhyun misses his hometown. He misses his grandmother deeply, and Chanyeol and Soojung, as well as the things he knows he won’t ever have the chance to call his again—Minseok’s guesthouse, the bookstore, the town itself. Going back just isn’t an option anymore; he does intend on visiting, and he and Minseok and Jongdae have planned to pass by sometime in January, but going back for good… it’s not the same, anymore.

He does miss it, though, especially the fields, where he felt free and invincible in a land that was his and his only. The fields look the most peaceful in the winter, especially on snowy days, hidden under a thin, smooth white coat that used to warm Baekhyun’s heart despite his slight dislike of the colder weather.

Living with Junmyeon, in the bustling city of Seoul, is exciting, but it’s lacking that feeling of belonging Baekhyun is seeking for.

He isn’t worried, though. He has all the time in the world to figure it out—incoming war be damned; he deserves his happiness. He knows that, now.

“Lost in thought?” a voice asks, and Baekhyun smiles before Yixing has even finished his sentence.

“Not anymore,” he says as he turns, and finds Yixing looking down at him with a shy dimpled smile. It fills Baekhyun with warmth, and stretches out his hands towards Yixing, beckoning him over. “Hi, there.”

Yixing’s smile is blinding despite being shy. Just seeing him makes Baekhyun’s heart almost ache with something fiery and deep, a feeling he simply hasn’t gotten over yet. He hopes he never does, ever.

Yixing plumps down next to him, but only to say, “Let’s go out. You and I. Come on!”

“Yixing. It’s snowing.”

“I know. It’s so pretty!”

“It’s cold.”

“But _pretty_ ,” Yixing insists.

“But _cold_ ,” whines Baekhyun, but he knows already that in a minute or two, he’ll be putting on his scarf and jacket and following Yixing outside.

It’s exactly what happens, but some of Baekhyun’s fake annoyance dissolves when Yixing fakes pouts as Baekhyun asks him to wear a scarf. He relents after Baekhyun insists, and the latter leaves a small kiss on the tip of his nose as a reward. Yixing smiles at him, laces his fingers with Baekhyun’s and squeezes his hand before they walk out the doors.

Their escapade looks and feels a lot like that one afternoon in June they had spent together—except this time, snow surrounds them rather than sunshine, and Yixing is the one guiding Baekhyun around. Yixing has taken a great liking to the city, even befriending some of the shop holders and street vendors around the area. They walk past a few old women who suddenly brighten up at their arrival, and Yixing explains that they’ve all started liking him after he’s been nicknaming them his ‘favourite ahjummas.’

“Forever the charmer, aren’t you,” Baekhyun chuckles with a roll of his eyes, but he finds the situation more endearing than anything, especially with how Yixing’s cheeks grow pink from more than just the cold.

They pick up _hotteok_ from one of Yixing’s ahjummas, the warmth of the snack helping with their freezing fingers. The honey tastes sweet on Baekhyun’s tongue, and he does a pretty good job at refraining himself from tasting the one stuck on Yixing’s lips.

For most of the afternoon, they stay huddled together, sharing some of their warmth while keeping each other close. Some snowflakes get caught on their eyelashes, and Baekhyun stays amazed at how beautiful Yixing looks. The flurries look like crystals against his eyes, making it seem like they shine even brighter than they usually do.

They’re never too bright, though.

It’s too early when the sun finally sets, but it soon gets too dark for them to stay out. With pink cheeks and a warm heart, Baekhyun lets Yixing guide him through the streets, but stops short when they finally reach their destination.

He only realizes when they step inside, but the smell of smoke and alcohol doesn’t fool him—when Baekhyun takes a look around him, they’ve arrived at the very same Western bar he took Yixing to, months before. It looks slightly different now; the crowd is scarce, and the music seems smoother, somehow. The smell of smoke is stronger, as if it brought more warmth to the customers than alcohol does.

Yixing looks at him over his shoulder, grabbing his hand in the darkness of the room. “Come on, just you and I.”

It doesn’t make _sense_ , that Yixing says that—of course, it’s just the two of them; it’s been the two of them for a few hours now, and it’s not like they’re about to join someone’s table, right?

Or maybe there’s something else behind Yixing’s words. Something like…

 _This is it. This is where our story began, or maybe just a part of our story. This is you, this is me; this is the both of us together, here again. This is where our new story begins_.

And so, Baekhyun squeezes Yixing’s hand, and replies, confidently, “You and I.”

***

 _The End_.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah... it almost breaks my heart to end the story here. But before I go into thank you's and whatnot, here are a few notes regarding the story!
> 
> The song Baekhyun keeps singing, Arirang, is a Korean folk song that has been covered time and time again by various modern K-Pop groups, but that holds a much deeper meaning for many, especially of the older generation. For many, it is close to a national anthem of the entire Korea (North and South combined). [Here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jgpMzSrWxoA&) is a video that explains the origins of the song, its meaning, as well as an acapella performance of the song that is rather close to the one I had in mind when writing the parts in which Baekhyun sings it. 
> 
> Although I know there's many flaws to my story regarding its accuracy, I did try to keep it as close to the timeline of events at that time as I could. Most—if not all—events mentioned actually happened, except maybe for the revolt in which Yixing gets arrested, as well as the one where Jongdae later gets arrested as well (however, their occurrences are realistic enough with the climate at that time). 
> 
> The Seoul we know used to be much different from the one our characters have known... To immerse myself in the story, I've dug up some pictures from around that time which greatly helped with imagining the setting and getting the atmosphere as on point as I possibly could. You can find them [here](http://www.vintag.es/2013/09/colour-pictures-of-seoul-in-1948-49.html).
> 
> I think that's about it... again, if you've read everything up until this point—thank you a thousand times, and another thousand times again. Thank you even more if you've enjoyed it! I want to thank Sarah and Juliane yet again, whose help was pretty much the only thing that kept me going up until this point. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are always super duper appreciated. I'll be off trying to sleep and maybe come up with some fresh ideas... See you around, and Merry Christmas! :)


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